Chapter 6
Tim’s POV
Running into Brie feels like an unexpected gift. She’s nothing like the last tenant of that penthouse, thankfully. When I wandered into her apartment earlier this morning-admittedly, after barely knocking -she didn’t kick me out. Instead, she invited me to share breakfast with her. There’s something there, something magnetic about her. She pulls me in like a moth drawn to a flame. Brie carries an air of vulnerability, like someone nursing old wounds, and I try to steer clear of anything too personal. Not that I have much to offer in that regard. My own personal life is practically nonexistent. My last relationship ended in a train wreck. She cheated on me, tired of the unpredictable hours of a surgeon’s life and the missed dates. She wanted more attention than I could give. One day, after a brutal shift, I walked into her apartment and found her tangled up with the neighbor. That was it-I left and never
looked back.
Brie doesn’t strike me as the gold-digging type, unlike the previous occupant of her suite. That woman snagged herself a tycoon old enough to be her father. But who am I to judge? Brie, though… there’s something genuine about her, something refreshing. I want to spend time with her, maybe share a few
dinners.
Eating alone has its way of wearing you down. I’m not looking for another girlfriend, just a companion -someone to talk to, someone to break bread with. If it leads to more, that’s fine, but I don’t need it. There’s no shortage of women looking my way, but that sort of attention doesn’t appeal to me. I prefer doing the chasing. And truthfully, with the money I make and the lifestyle I’ve built, I’ve grown wary of intentions. A heart surgeon might as well walk around with dollar signs stamped on his forehead.
Today feels off-there’s a dull headache, likely the wine Brie was generous with last night. She kept filling my glass more than hers; I noticed but let it slide. No harm done. I’m off work today, and an Advil should take care of the rest.
I decide a swim on the rooftop might clear my head. The space is private, shared only between Brie and me. I’m not sure if she’s explored it yet, but I’d like to mention it over breakfast-if she’s up for cooking again, perhaps she’ll join me sometime. Taking the stairs two at a time, I swing open the rooftop door and freeze.
There she is.
She’s slicing through the pool with strokes that are hypnotic, perfect. Her body is toned, lithe, powerful. For a moment, all I can do is stand there, captivated. I toss my towel onto a deck chair and wait for her to reach the shallow end before diving in myself.
Swimming alongside her feels natural, easy. Her rhythm sets a good pace, not bad for someone who isn’t a professional athlete. Don’t misunderstand me; it’s not about her being a woman. But men tend to have stronger strokes, faster laps-it’s just biology. If I keep my usual pace, I would pull ahead of her easily, but that’s not what I want right now. Staying beside her feels better.
We swim for ten laps, neither of us breaking stride. Then Brie climbs out, water tracing her sleek frame. I push through twenty more laps before I follow her, stepping out of the pool dripping and energized. She’s already seated on a deck chair watching me.
“Morning,” she says with a smile. “You’ve got good form. And thanks for pacing yourself with me-l know you could’ve taken off.”
Caught. She’s sharp, this one-an astute observer who registers things most people overlook.
“You’re welcome. Your form is impressive too-long, measured strokes. It made matching your pace easy,” I reply. Her poise continues to surprise me. She’s neither flirty nor distant but strikes a rare balance. There’s no pretense in her demeanor, no attempts to impress me, and she isn’t hiding behind arrogance or defensiveness. She’s calm, accepting, somehow untouchable in her composure.
“Do you swim often?” she asks, rubbing a towel through her wet hair, seeming unconcerned about the mess it’ll leave. It’ll stick up everywhere-like mine often does after swimming.
“Every morning, if work allows. Being on call sometimes throws it off,” I admit. These are facts; there’s no point in dressing them up.
“I get that. I’ve got two weeks off-a real holiday for once before work pulls me back into the grind. It’s been years since I’ve had time like this.”
“Too bad you didn’t get away somewhere far. A proper holiday would’ve been nice, yeah?”
Her silence answers more than words might, so I let it rest. We’re drifting closer to personal waters, and I figure it’s better to reel it back for now.
“How about breakfast again today?” I ask, trying to shift gears.
“Sure,” she says with ease. “Anything particular you’re craving?”
“Bacon and eggs, maybe?”
“You bet. How do you like them?”
“Over easy on the eggs, crispy bacon,” I reply quickly, grateful for her willingness. There’s no effort required to converse with Brie, no awkward pauses or pressing need to fill silences.
She rises, retrieving her towel, and something in my body reacts unbidden. Just like that. I grab my own towel and wrap it around my waist, hoping she doesn’t notice. Mercifully, her back is to me, sparing me the mortification. Together we head inside and descend the stairs. When we reach her door, she steps into her apartment, turning back to me as if inviting me in.
“Uh, I’ll catch you in ten. I need to shower and change first,” I say, hesitating at her threshold.
“You’re cooking?” she asks curiously.
“Not quite. But I can handle coffee and toast-and set the table if you want. The balcony again?”
“Sure. Might as well enjoy it while the weather’s nice,” she agrees easily.
I nod. She’s right-there won’t be many more mornings like this before winter rolls in, forcing us indoors. And with her, even the simplest routines, like breakfast, carry a warmth I hadn’t expected.
