Chapter 14: The Almost Moment

It started with one lunch.

Then another.

And another.

Damon made it a point to pick her up from the office every day, arriving at precisely the same time, waiting just long enough for her to grab her things before they left together.

Phoebe never objected.

Never refused.

She told herself it was easier this way. That it saved her the trouble of figuring out where to eat, of debating whether or not to take a break at all.

But deep down, she knew the truth.

She didn't stop him because some part of her didn't want to.

Because some part of her—however small—was still drawn to him, still craved the familiarity of his presence, even if she would never admit it.

But the dangerous thing about familiarity?

It made you forget.

Forget the hurt. Forget the past. Forget the reason you walked away in the first place.

And that was a mistake she couldn't afford to make again.

---

(The Almost Moment)

It was raining the day it happened.

A light drizzle at first, the kind that barely warranted an umbrella. But by the time they finished lunch and stepped outside, the sky had darkened, and the soft drizzle had turned into a full downpour.

Phoebe cursed under her breath. "Perfect."

Damon smirked. "Not a fan of the rain?"

"I had plans to actually get work done this afternoon," she muttered, eyeing the sheets of water cascading down onto the pavement. "Now I'll have to sit at my desk like a drowned cat."

Damon chuckled, already shrugging out of his jacket. Before she could react, he draped it over her shoulders, the warmth of it seeping into her skin.

Phoebe froze.

It wasn't the first time he had done this.

Back when they were pretending, he used to do it all the time—an effortless, practiced move for when they were in public, when he needed to keep up the act of a doting partner.

But this?

This wasn't for show.

No one was watching.

And for the first time in a long time, she didn't know what to do.

Damon was close. Too close.

His scent surrounded her—something sharp and clean, mixed with the faintest trace of cologne.

Her fingers tightened around the lapels of his jacket, her pulse quickening against her will.

And then—

A hand.

Warm. Solid.

Skimming the edge of her wrist before his fingers brushed against hers.

A simple touch.

But enough to send a jolt of something dangerous through her veins.

She looked up.

And there he was.

Watching her.

Seeing too much.

Her breath caught, her heart slamming against her ribs as the world around them faded, leaving only the space between them—the heat, the pull, the silent understanding that neither of them wanted to name.

For a split second, she swayed.

For a split second, she thought about closing the distance.

But then—

Reality.

The past.

The truth.

Phoebe pulled back, breaking the moment before it could become something more.

Damon's gaze darkened, but he didn't say anything.

He didn't have to.

Because in that moment, he understood.

She was afraid.

Afraid to let him in. Afraid to want something she had already lost once.

Afraid to get hurt again.

She cleared her throat, forcing herself to look anywhere but at him. "We should go."

Damon was silent for a beat before he nodded. "Yeah."

They stepped out into the rain, neither of them mentioning what almost happened.

But Damon noticed.

And he wasn't going to let it slide forever.