Chapter 1: Secrets in the Silence

After marrying my childhood friend, we acted like two strangers sharing a hotel room, careful not to bump elbows. He barely spoke, and I matched his reserve, the air between us thick with everything unsaid. To this day, we haven’t even touched in that way. What I didn’t know was that my childhood friend could hear my inner thoughts.

In the bedroom, I watched Caleb, fresh from his shower, my face calm and unreadable. Inside, my thoughts spun: [Would I actually faint if we ever did something as normal as cooking dinner together?]

The bedroom glowed with the honeyed light of early evening, the window A/C humming away. The woodsy body wash reminded me of those camping trips we took as kids—back when things were simple. Caleb stood there, silent, steam still rising from his skin, and I worked to keep my expression steady even as my mind ran wild.

[It must feel amazing, right? How did that book Aubrey showed me describe it... something about losing focus.]

[And something about water boiling.]

The memory of that dog-eared paperback Aubrey gave me made me squirm, its over-the-top metaphors for first love making me both roll my eyes and ache with curiosity. I sneaked a glance at Caleb, heat prickling up my neck.

Caleb nearly slipped, almost falling. I stepped forward and grabbed his arm to steady him. My fingers hovered on his arm a moment too long, pulse skittering, before I remembered to let go. “You okay?”

He caught himself against the dresser, his towel clinging stubbornly at his hips, droplets spattering the hardwood floor. I reached out, my palm grazing his forearm, cool against the lingering heat of his skin.

[Why won’t the towel fall off? Why does he have to wrap up so tightly? It’s not like it would kill him if I looked.]

[He’s really built, and his fingers are so long.]

“I’m fine.”

Caleb answered quickly, like he was desperate to keep things from getting weird. He tugged at his towel. “Sorry, I couldn’t find the bathrobe, so I just used a towel...”

His cheeks colored a little, eyes flicking away like he was embarrassed to have to explain himself in our own house.

[Of course you couldn’t find it.]

[I threw it out.]

[It’s probably getting shredded at the dump by now.]

[I’ll toss the towel tomorrow, too.]

I fought down a giggle, picturing tomorrow’s laundry day as a covert operation. Sometimes, a little mischief was my only comfort in a marriage where everything else felt so careful.

I let go of him and said coolly, “Just be more careful next time.”

I flicked imaginary lint off my pajama sleeve, avoiding his gaze. The lamp on the nightstand buzzed softly, casting us both in gentle shadow.

“...Alright.”

Caleb’s voice was soft, almost lost in the hush of our evening ritual. He edged past me toward the dresser, his towel still perfectly in place.