Rising Action
Adrian shuffled into the kitchen, his presence as familiar as the creak of the wooden cabinet he reached into for two mugs. Melanie kept her gaze fixed on the steam rising from the kettle, her fingers tracing the cold Formica counter. “What number are you on?” he asked, his voice soft but knowing, pulling her from her anxiety spiral. She managed a shaky smile, tasting the faint honey of his kiss still lingering on her lips. “Almost done,” she murmured, turning to face him. He wore her pale pink robe, strawberries embroidered on the pockets, and her slippers—two sizes too small. “Cozy, Mel,” he teased, his sleepy grin disarming. She laughed despite herself, but the weight of last night pressed heavier. At the wedding, they’d played the part of fake dates, laughing over cider and bad speeches until a moment of reckless courage led to a kiss on her couch. Now, his casual ease clashed with her racing heart. “So, are we going to talk about last night?” he asked, setting his rooibos tea to steep. Melanie’s throat tightened. “Nope,” she said, too fast, her fingers fumbling with the tea timer. Adrian bumped her shoulder gently. “C’mon, Mel.” His touch sent a shiver through her, unraveling her carefully constructed calm. She’d spent years hiding her love for him, content with friendship—until last night’s spark threatened to consume her. He draped her robe over her shoulders, tying the belt with care. “Better?” he asked, his golden-brown eyes searching hers. Melanie nodded, but her heart screamed: How could she go back to just friends?
