Page 12 of Rising Heat

The landing on the third floor is small and warm. Tyler pulls a key from his pocket and opens the apartment, and sunlight spills across the floor stopping me in my tracks.

The listing photos didn’t lie. If anything, they undersold it.

Dark wood floors stretch through one open, airy space flooded with winter light. Soft white walls. Original exposed brick running the length of the living room like the building’s heartbeat. Tall windows line one wall and turn the whole apartment gold where the sun hits.

The kitchen sits off to one side with white cabinets and brass hardware and floating oak shelves and subway tile. I would buy lemons just to put them in a glass bowl here.

Tyler notices and his teasing quiets.

“This is the part where people usually try to play it cool. You’re doing better than most.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“It is,” he says seriously, like he means it too.

“My brother and I did the renovation ourselves. Well—mostly. We hired out the stuff that would’ve killed us.” He leans against the kitchen island. “We bought it from our grandparents three years ago. Took forever to get it where we wanted.”

My fingertips drift along the edge of the counter, the quartz cool beneath my hand.

The way he says my brother and I catches my attention. Like family is something he actively participates in, not just shared genetics or a fact printed on a holiday card.

I can already see myself in this apartment, which is either a great sign or evidence that I’ve lost all sense of self-preservation entirely.

Making coffee at that counter. Crying on that floor, probably, at some point, because that’s just statistically where I’m headed. Figuring something out at that dining nook at midnight with wine I opened too early. A space that would be mine because I chose it, not because it made sense on paper or fit neatly into someone else’s plan for what my life should look like.

I hadn’t realized how badly I wanted that until this exact second.

Tyler’s voice is gentle.

“Hey.” He’s close enough that I catch his scent again. “You okay?”

The concern in his face is so uncomplicated it nearly undoes me.

“It’s stupid,” I say.

“That’s usually how people start right before saying something that matters.”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “It’s just…this would be my first place on my own.”

His answer is immediate, like he gets it without needing the rest of the story.

“Then it should feel like yours.”

He says it like it’s obvious. Like wanting something doesn’t automatically make you selfish.

Nobody has ever framed it that way before. For a second, I just stare at him before retreating to safer, more practical territory.

“Well, I’m sure there’s a process.”

“What?”

“For the apartment.” I gesture vaguely. “Application. Credit check. Background check. Character references from emotionally stable people.”

Tyler laughs, full and easy. “You seem stable enough.”

“You met me ten minutes ago.”

“Nine,” he winks.