What if the fear of falling short threatened to pull you away from the one person who sees your best?
Six weeks had slipped by since that breath-stealing moment in the back office. In that time, Dionne had stepped into her new role as Regional Manager—her suitcase becoming a constant companion, her wardrobe a rotation of tailored blouses and pencil skirts. Chase had watched her rise from afar, cheering her on by text and video call, even as a tightening knot of inadequacy grew within him.
Dionne stepped into the lobby of the Langford Grand, where marble floors stretched beneath a vaulted glass ceiling and floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the city’s glittering skyline. She rode the polished brass elevator to the 32nd floor, heart fluttering as she reached her suite. The door swung open onto a spacious room bathed in soft amber light: a plush king-size bed with crisp white linens, an elegant writing desk topped with fresh orchids, and a wall of windows framing Lake Michigan’s calm expanse. Beyond the lake, the city’s high-rises pierced the horizon: the soaring Willis Tower with its twin antennas, the curved facade of the Aqua Building shimmering in the distance, and summer sunlight dancing across rivers of traffic below.
Dionne kicked off her heels and padded across the room to the window, the plush carpet sinking under her feet. She rested a hand on the cool glass, marveling at how small the world looked from here—and how vast her own possibilities felt. She’d prayed for this chance: to lead a region, shape teams, travel, and see the world beyond her hometown. Now, light fragmented across her natural coils pinned back neatly, the mirror reflecting her glowing excitement.
She felt blessed in a way she hadn’t allowed herself to feel before. Here she was, thousands of feet above ground, living the future she’d once only whispered in her journal. Every revelation—her parents’ pride, Chase’s unwavering encouragement—swelled in her chest as hope. The streets below chattered with strangers whose lives intersected with hers only by chance, yet she felt intimately tied to this moment. This was more than a job; it was the answer to years of dedication and quiet prayer. Joy filled her lungs as the sun dipped lower, gilding the lake’s edge. She pressed her palm against the window, smiling at the reflection of a woman on the cusp of everything she’d ever imagined.
Meanwhile, back home, Chase’s shift had begun at dawn with a coffee stain on his uniform polo—courtesy of a jittery regular who insisted on triple espresso. From there, the day spiraled into a relentless parade of customer complaints and system glitches. First, the reservation terminal froze mid-check-in, trapping a family of four in the lobby until he rebooted the entire network. Their toddler cried, the parents fumed, and Chase’s palms grew hot as he assured them, “I’m sorry, we’ll have your car ready in ten minutes.” But it took thirty.
By midday, he’d fielded a barrage of emails from corporate demanding analytics on unused reservations, leaving him scrambling through spreadsheets while simultaneously answering phone calls. Every ring seemed louder than the last, each customer more impatient. At one point, Mr. Ellis strode by, eyes narrowing as he barked, “Chase, where’s the breakdown on February’s corporate accounts?” Chase’s blood pounded in his ears as he fumbled with a stack of folders. “Coming right up,” he muttered, lips dry.
During his meager lunch—stale sandwich and lukewarm water—he stared blankly at his phone, scanning an apartment listing for the third time that week. The rent was just beyond his reach, even with his extra shifts. Frustration coiled tight in his gut as he imagined telling Dionne he still couldn’t secure a place. He’d rehearsed reassurances in his head, only to feel the weight of his mother’s words—You moved back because things got hard—echoing louder than any customer complaint.
Afternoon found him in the parking lot, palms greasy from unfamiliar car keys, while passing colleagues chatted about weekend plans. He forced a smile but felt hollow; all he could think of was Dionne’s encouraging texts, her praise for his support of her promotion. He imagined her bright laughter, the way her curls caught light as she smiled at him in that emerald dress. That thought both soothed and stung, reminding him how much he longed to be worthy of her faith.
By the time he locked up for the evening, exhaustion draped over him like a heavy coat. He trudged through the empty lot, shoulders slumped, replaying every misstep of the day. The weight of professional mishaps and personal doubts pressed him forward, even as his mind circled back, again and again, to her voice: “You deserve this.”
Deep into her wind down routine, having showered and completed a few last-minute emails, she texted Chase from her hotel bathroom, the mirror’s bright lights illuminating her natural curls pinned back, the faint scent of jasmine lotion lingering in the air.
Dionne: I’m so nervous, but excited. Thank you again for your support. Miss you already.
Chase sat in his parents’ living room, head propped in his hand, the glow of the TV playing a late-night game show he barely watched. He slipped out of his shirt—leaving his sculpted chest bare to the lamp’s warm light—and opened a bottle of lotion. The cool cream slid over his biceps and abs, muscles flexing beneath golden-brown skin. His thumb traced his collarbone, and he closed his eyes, picturing Dionne’s lips at that spot.
A familiar throb resonated deep in his loins. Flashbacks of her following him in that lavender wrap dress, her ankle gently brushing against his under the dinner table, engulfed his senses. He allowed his fingers to slip beneath the waistband of his jeans, envisioning her breath, like a sultry whisper, guiding him. Holding his erect penis in his right hand, he reached for the lotion, letting a few drops fall onto the tip. Gently, he rubbed the head until it gleamed in the dim light. As his fingers moved along the length, he added more lotion, settling into a slow, steady rhythm.
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