Someplace Hot

The basement always felt like a place outside of time—cool, dim, suspended. Lynn had come to think of it like a snow globe: silent, still, insulated from whatever consequences existed above ground. Here, time didn’t move unless Ernesto said it could.

She was curled into him, her body small against the stretch of his legs as he watched the football game with the volume turned low. His hand moved rhythmically through her hair, each stroke hypnotic, like he was lulling her into forgetting they were anything other than what they appeared to be: two people who fit. She pretended she wasn’t counting the minutes. She always counted the minutes.

It was these quiet moments that tricked her into believing he was hers. The world outside might not allow it, but here—just here—he was.

“Have you ever been to Arizona?” she asked, not moving her head.

“Arizona?”

His voice vibrated against her cheek.

“There’s a place in Sedona I saw. Red rocks. Desert air. You can see the stars at night, like they’re sitting right on your chest.”

He paused, hand stilled in her hair.

“I thought maybe we could go,” she said. “Just for a weekend.”

Now he was really quiet. The kind of quiet that made her stomach twist.

She sat up, slow, careful not to seem like she was pushing.

“You don’t have to say yes. I just…” She shrugged. “Thought it’d be nice to see each other somewhere real. Somewhere people don’t look at us like they’re guessing the story.”

His eyes didn’t leave the TV.

“Lynn.” Her name landed like an apology. “You know I can’t.”

“Why not?”

He sighed through his nose. Not annoyed, not angry. Just tired. Tired of being asked for something he’d already decided he wouldn’t give.

“You’re not the only manager,” she said. “It’s one weekend. No one would even notice.”

“That’s not how this works.”

She hated how fast her hope folded into shame. She hated how quickly she let it.

“You’re not listening,” he said, gently. “If we take time off at the same time, it’s suspicious. And if someone talks—”

“They already talk,” she said. “They just whisper instead.”

There was a flicker of something on his face. Maybe guilt. Maybe calculation.

“I can’t afford to risk my job for a vacation.”

She nodded, slowly. Felt herself collapse inward again, like a paper crane unfolding.

“So what you’re saying is,” she said, quieter now, “you’d be the one fired. Not me.”

“Don’t twist this.”

“I’m not.” She sat up straighter. “I’m just pointing out the truth. You have the power. You’re my boss.”

He didn’t argue. He just stood, pacing a little, like he always did when things got too sharp to sit still.

“You think I haven’t thought about it?” he said. “You think I don’t want to take you somewhere warm? To fall asleep with you after too much sun, to see your skin in real daylight instead of these stolen hours?”

Her chest hurt. That ache you get when something beautiful brushes too close, then steps back.

“Then why won’t you?”

He turned to her. The expression on his face could almost be mistaken for tenderness if it didn’t feel so calculated.

“Because you matter to me,” he said. “Because if I lost this job, I’d lose everything. And I would lose it for you—I really would—but that’s the part that terrifies me. That I’d do it anyway.”

“You’re good at that,” she said. “Making it sound like protecting yourself is protecting me.”

“I’m not the guy who takes you on vacation, Lynn. I’m not the boyfriend. I’m the guy who reminds you what you deserve.”

She laughed softly, but there was no humor in it. “And still refuses to give it to me.”

“I’m not asking for a ring,” she said, and now her voice cracked. “I’m not asking for forever. I’m just asking for one weekend where we don’t pretend this isn’t real.”

The silence stretched. He sat beside her again, slowly, like gravity had returned to the room.

“You’re not a vacation girl,” he said. “You’re more than that. You’re the one who keeps me sane. You’re the only one who makes me feel like a person. But if people see that—if they see you with me—they won’t see you. They’ll see something ugly. They’ll say I took advantage. That you didn’t have a choice. And I won’t let them reduce you like that.”

“I think you just don’t want to be the villain,” she said.

He looked at her. “And you want me to be the guy who ruins both of our lives for a trip to Arizona?”

“If you loved me, maybe.”

The second the word left her mouth, she wanted it back. She watched it land on him like a fragile thing that might shatter.

He reached for her hand. She didn’t stop him. She never did.

“I do love you,” he said. “Just not in the way you want me to.”

That was the thing with Ernesto. He never said the wrong thing. He said the honest thing. And it hurt more.

She looked down at their hands. His thumb stroking hers like he was comforting her after hurting her. Like he always did.

“You know what I hate?” she whispered. “You act like this—us—is something generous. Like you’re giving me crumbs out of kindness. Like that’s better than giving nothing.”

He said nothing. Because deep down, he knew it was true.

And still, when he pulled her close again, she let him. She let her head rest against his shoulder, her breath syncing with his, trying to make the moment last longer than it should.

Because loving him wasn’t like a fire. It was like drowning. Quiet. Endless.

And he was the only thing that ever made her feel alive beneath the surface