If Only He Knew

Summer’s shift flies by in a blur of beeping scanners and rustling plastic bags. The store smells faintly of laundry detergent and coffee from the break room, but she barely notices—her thoughts are consumed by Markus. Every time she glances toward the manager’s office, she pictures his smile, the way he calls her name in that calm, deep voice that makes her knees feel weak.

They’ve been dating for a month, and it’s been nothing short of perfect. Their dates have been simple—picnics in the park, late-night walks, fast food runs after closing shifts—but she wouldn’t trade them for anything. They haven’t been intimate yet, but tonight, Summer can’t shake the thought of finally kissing him. Just one real kiss.

When her shift ends, she rushes home, the sunset glowing against her skin as she walks. She showers, letting the warm water wash away the scent of work. Her heart beats faster as she chooses her outfit—something cute but casual. She’s barely finished getting ready when her phone buzzes.

Markus: “Can we just hang out tonight at my house?”

Summer smiles at the screen, warmth spreading through her chest.

Summer: “Of course. What’s your address? I’m already dressed.”

He sends it, and within minutes she’s on her way, her stomach fluttering with nerves and excitement.

When she arrives, she texts him asking for the apartment number.

Markus: “303.”

She climbs the stairs, her sandals slapping softly against the concrete. He opens the door before she can knock. He’s wearing only gym shorts—his chest bare, skin glistening slightly, tattoos curling over his muscles like art come to life. The faint scent of cologne lingers in the air, and Summer’s breath catches.

“Hey,” he says, his voice low and deep.

“Hey,” she replies, trying to keep her cool even as her pulse skips.

They sit together on the sofa, close enough that she can feel the warmth radiating from his body. The TV hums quietly in the background, but all she can focus on is him.

“You look good,” Markus says, eyes soft but intense.

Summer smiles and inches closer. His hand finds her thigh, sending a spark through her entire body. Their eyes meet—then he leans in. His lips touch hers, gentle at first, then deeper. The world tilts, and she feels herself falling—not just into the kiss, but into him.

Before she realizes it, they’re in his bedroom. The air smells like his skin and laundry detergent, the room dim except for the glow from the hallway. What happens next is passion—messy, overwhelming, beautiful. When it’s over, Summer lies in his arms, tracing the tattoos on his chest, already dreaming about forever. In her mind, she’s picturing their wedding, their kids, their future.

They fall asleep tangled together.

The next morning, sunlight slips through the blinds, brushing against Summer’s face. Markus is still asleep beside her, breathing steadily. She smiles, slips out of bed quietly, and orders breakfast—pancakes, eggs, and coffee. When it arrives, she brings the tray to the bedroom, the smell of syrup filling the air. They eat together, laughing softly, watching a movie on his laptop. Soon, one thing leads to another, and the morning melts into another round of tender chaos.

But at noon, a loud bang shakes the apartment door—sharp, insistent, like a police knock.

Summer scrambles to put her clothes on. Markus throws on a robe and opens the door.

Standing there is a woman with tired eyes and fire in her stance—Monae. Two children cling to her sides, and another, a toddler, rests on her hip.

“So you're already talking to someone else?” Monae says, voice sharp. “We've only been broken up for six months. Damn, you couldn’t wait?”

Summer slips into the bathroom, the sound of running water covering her nerves.

Markus exhales. “Monae, that’s not what this is. Just… give me my son.”

She hesitates, then hands him the two-year-old, who curls sleepily against Markus’s shoulder. The older kids dart

off to their rooms, already turning on the game console.

“I need to meet her,” Monae says, crossing her arms. “If she’s gonna be around my kids, I deserve to know who she is.”

The bathroom door opens.

Summer steps out, calm and smiling. “You must be Monae,” she says warmly.“You have the most beautiful children.”

Monae’s eyes narrow, but her expression softens slightly. “Who are you?”

“I’m Summer,” she says gently. “I’m dating Markus right now. Please know—if I’m ever around your children, I’ll care for them and protect them like I would Markus himself.”

Monae studies her for a moment, then nods.

“You seem cool,” she admits.

Summer smiles. “I love kids.”

Monae tilts her head.

 “Do you have any?”

“Not yet,” Summer answers softly.

Monae glances at Markus, who looks down at the floor, silent.

The room fills with quiet tension, the kind that hums beneath the surface—fragile, uncertain, but real.