"Do you want to stay for dinner?" Celia asked, eyeing Vince with a warm but mischievous smile.
Before he could respond, Vanessa subtly tugged on his pant leg under the table.
Vince caught the hint immediately. "Ah—thank you, mom, but I've got a project due tonight. I should probably head out."
Celia tilted her head. "Mom? Funny. You just called me mom a second ago."
Vanessa groaned and stood up abruptly. "We're done here. Let's go."
She grabbed Vince by the arm and dragged him out of the shop. The door closed behind them with a soft jingle.
Once they were a few paces down the street, she shot him a glare. "Calling my mom mom? What's wrong with you?"
"I panicked," Vince said, chuckling.
Vanessa rolled her eyes, still pulling him along by the hand. He looked down, realizing their fingers had naturally locked together somewhere along the way. She didn't notice—or if she did, she didn't let go.
A slow grin spread across his face.
"You're really bold, you know that?" she muttered, still walking fast, pretending not to be flustered.
They walked in rhythm, side by side, all the way to the bus stop. As they stood waiting, the streetlight flickering above, Vanessa finally glanced down.
Her eyes widened. She yanked her hand away like it was on fire.
"Wait—was I holding your hand the entire time? And you didn't say anything?" she asked, stunned.
"Why would I?" Vince replied, smirking.
She scoffed, flustered. "Ugh, of course you wouldn't. You probably enjoyed it."
"Obviously. But more than that, it just means you're getting used to me," he said. "That alone makes me happy."
She stared at him for a beat, lips twitching like she was suppressing a smile. "Do you like me that much?"
"I do," he said without hesitation, locking eyes with her.
For a moment, something shifted between them—unspoken tension thick in the air, the kind that doesn't need words.
Then the bus screeched to a stop, breaking the silence.
"Go," she said quickly, giving him a gentle shove toward the door.
"I'll see you tomorrow," he said, turning back, eyes hopeful for a response.
She raised her hand and waved, her expression unreadable but soft.
"See?" he called out through the bus window, grinning. "You can be friendly."
The doors closed, and the bus rolled off, his smile lingering behind the glass.
On the ride home, Vince's thoughts wouldn't settle. The fight with Darian played on repeat in his head—why was he at Vanessa's mom's shop? And why did it sound like the two had history? Exes? That couldn't be. Darian was with Karina not too long ago. The timeline didn't make sense, and neither did the look in Vanessa's eyes during the confrontation.
He had too many questions. No answers.
As he neared his house, he spotted a sleek black Mercedes parked by the main gate.
Karina's mom.
Which meant Karina was inside.
Sighing, he made the short walk up the inner path and stepped through the front door. Instantly, the familiar sound of laughter spilled from the living room.
There sat Casely Bois, elegant and sharp-eyed, sipping coffee beside his mother, Grace, who beamed at him the second he appeared.
"Oh, look, my baby boy's back," Grace said, rising to hug him.
"Hey Mom. Good evening, Mrs. Bois," he greeted politely, trying to mask his unease.
"Vince," Casely said, with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "How are you, dear?"
"I'm doing fine," he said with a polite nod, playing it safe.
"Well, thank you for looking after Karina. She talks about you constantly." Her tone hovered between genuine and deliberate, as if every word had an extra layer of meaning.
Vince gave a practiced smile. "She takes care of herself pretty well. I just try not to get in her way."
Grace laughed. "That's a smart answer."
Casely's gaze lingered on him a second longer. "Still, she seems quite taken with you."
"Really, I think she's just fond of messing with me," Vince said, trying to nudge the conversation away from where it was heading.
"Fond is an understatement," Casely replied, eyeing him over the rim of her cup. "But I'll leave you teenagers to your own story."
He gave a dry smile. "Yeah..."
With a subtle glance around the room and no sign of Karina, he knew exactly where she'd be. There was only one place she ever claimed as her personal sanctuary in this house.
"I've got a project," he said, already backing away. "Heading to my room."
"Alright," Grace called after him. "I'll call you when dinner's ready."
Upstairs, the first thing he noticed was the soft creak of his bedroom door—it was cracked open. Someone was inside.
He pushed it open gently and there she was: Karina, fast asleep on his bed, still in her uniform, curled up like she owned the place. Her chest rose and fell softly, completely at ease.
"This little punk," he muttered.
He looked over to his desk. Her cheerleading bag was slouched against his chair, half-open, her uniform sticking out like a neon sign he'd somehow ignored.
"Right... she was cheering at the game."
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'll allow this once."
Grabbing some clothes from his closet, he left the room quietly, heading to the guest bathroom down the hall. He wasn't about to shower with her sleeping five feet away