TOCChapter 5The door clicked shut behind her, muffling the city’s hum. Lois dropped her keys in the bowl by the door, kicked off her heels, and sighed—half from exhaustion, half from the quiet.
She peeled off her blazer, then the blouse beneath, letting the day fall away piece by piece. The newsroom tension still clung to her skin, but she didn’t want to carry it into the evening. Not tonight.
She pulled on a low-cut sweater—soft, charcoal gray—and her favorite jeans, the ones that fit just right without trying too hard. She twisted her hair into a loose clip, checked the pasta water, and lit a candle on the counter. Just one. Enough.
The knock came as she was setting out plates.
Clark stood in the doorway, coat damp, arms full—a brown paper bag tucked against his chest, his smile quiet and familiar.
“I brought reinforcements,” he said. “Mushrooms, basil, parmesan. And garlic bread. The good kind.”
Lois stepped aside, letting him in. “You raided Russo’s.”
“I figured,” he said, setting the bag down, “if we’re learning to prioritize, we should start with dinner.”
She watched him move—steady, thoughtful, already slicing mushrooms like he belonged in her kitchen. The radio played low in the background, something jazzy and warm.
“You look beautiful,” he said, glancing up.
Lois raised an eyebrow. “I’m in jeans.”
“And a sweater that’s making it very hard to focus on garlic bread.”
She laughed, the sound soft and real. “You’re terrible.”
“I’m honest,” he said, brushing a hand lightly against her back as he passed.
They moved around each other with quiet rhythm—no tension, no rush. Just the soft clink of utensils, the low hum of the burner, and the comfort of choosing each other, even in the middle of everything.
The pasta was warm, the wine mellow, and the candle between them flickered like it had something to say. They’d settled into a rhythm—forks scraping gently, soft music playing low from the radio.
Lois twirled her pasta, then glanced up. “You know,” she said, voice casual but not light, “if you’re going to disappear… just leave a note. ‘Be back soon.’ Something.”
Clark looked up, surprised. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”
“I know,” she said. “But it’s not about worrying. It’s about not feeling like I imagined the whole thing. One minute we’re working side by side, and the next—poof. Gone.”
He set his fork down, leaning in slightly. “I’ll do better.”
Lois nodded, her voice softer now. “I don’t need details. Just something that says I matter enough to be told.”
Clark reached across the table for her hand. “You do. More than I can say.”
She gave a small smile, lacing her fingers through his. “Then say it with a note next time.”
Outside, the city kept moving. Inside, they stayed still—choosing each other in the quiet, one small promise at a time.
As they moved around the kitchen, stacking plates and wiping down counters, Lois glanced over her shoulder. “Okay, I know this is supposed to be a work-free zone,” she said, “but what position did you play in college?”
Clark handed her a dish towel, grinning. “Tight end.”
Lois raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
He nodded. “Good hands. Decent speed.”
She smirked. “That tracks.”
Clark leaned against the counter, watching her. “It was a small school. Nothing major. But I loved it.”
Lois rinsed a plate, then glanced at him sideways. “You ever miss it?”
“Sometimes,” he said. “But I think I like this team better.”
She gave him a look—half amused, half touched. “You’re such a sap.”
“And you’re beautiful,” he said, voice low.
Lois paused, the dish towel in her hands. “You’re getting good at that.”
“What?”
“Noticing.”
Lois paused, the dish towel still in her hands. “You’re getting good at that.”
“What?”
“Noticing.”
Clark smiled, but there was something quieter behind it. “I always noticed.”
She looked up, surprised.
“I just didn’t say anything,” he continued. “Back then, I figured you’d either argue with me or think I was making it up.”
Lois tilted her head, studying him. “You thought I’d fight you on a compliment?”
Clark shrugged gently. "You were busy proving you were the top banana. And when I did, you didn't want to hear it."
She looked at him, not defensive—just honest. “I guess you’re right. I wasn’t ready to hear what you had to say.”
She set the towel down, voice softer now. “But it doesn’t mean I didn’t want to hear you say it.”
Clark’s gaze held hers, steady and warm. “I’ll keep saying it. As long as you’ll let me.”
Lois stepped closer, brushing her fingers against his. “I’m listening now.”
Lois’s fingers rested lightly over his heart, the soft fabric of his shirt warm beneath her hand.
“Clark…” she murmured, leaning closer, her voice caught somewhere between hesitation and hope.
He didn’t rush. Just looked at her—really looked—like he’d been waiting for this moment to unfold on its own terms.
The space between them dissolved. Clark leaned in, slow and sure, and kissed her—gentle at first, like a promise. Her hand curled against his chest, anchoring herself to the steadiness of him.
It wasn’t dramatic. It didn’t need to be.
It was the kind of kiss that said: I see you. I’ve always seen you. And I’m not going anywhere.
When they finally pulled back, Lois didn’t speak. She just stayed close, forehead resting lightly against his, letting the quiet say everything.
After a few more kisses—soft, lingering, full of everything they hadn’t said—Clark pulled back, breath unsteady.
She looked at him, eyes still half-closed, lips parted in quiet wonder.
But he knew.
What she stirred in him—how easily she unraveled his defenses—could lead them somewhere deeper, faster, more dangerous than she realized. And she still didn’t know the full truth.
Not yet.
He brushed a thumb gently along her cheek, letting the moment settle between them.
“I want this,” he said quietly. “But I need you to have all of me. Not just the part that’s easy.”
Lois blinked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Then tell me.”
Before he could say anything else, it hit him.
A distant cry. A siren. A heartbeat out of rhythm.
Clark’s gaze shifted—just slightly—but Lois saw it. That flicker behind his eyes. The way his breath caught, like he was already halfway gone.
She didn’t ask.
She just looked at him, steady and knowing.
“You’re going to leave,” she said softly.
Clark opened his mouth, then closed it. He hated this part—the moment she saw through him, and he still couldn’t tell her why.
Lois stepped back, her hand falling from his chest, but she didn’t turn away.
“Don’t,” she said quietly. “Don’t just leave without telling me.”
Clark hesitated, the flicker of urgency already behind his eyes.
“I want to know,” she continued, voice steady but low. “Even if it’s complicated. Even if it’s not easy. I deserve the truth.”
He reached for her hand, held it for a beat longer than he should have. “I’ll be back.”
Lois searched his face, her fingers tightening around his. “That’s not the same as telling me.”
Clark swallowed hard, the candlelight casting soft shadows across her face. He wanted to stay. Wanted to speak. But the call was already pulling him away.
She saw it—felt it—and let go.
And then he was gone.
