Billie

When David called, his voice carried a weight I couldn’t ignore. “I’ve got a favor,” he said. “My cousin Billie needs a place to stay for a couple weeks. Family emergency. Can you help?” I glanced at my girlfriend, Emma, curled up on the couch. She raised an eyebrow. “That okay?” I mouthed. She shrugged, gave a small smile. “Sure. What’s two weeks?” I told David yes, thinking nothing of it. Billie sounded like a guy who maybe needed a couch and a quiet corner. The doorbell rang three nights later, and I opened it expecting some lanky, tired-looking dude. Instead—Billie stood there. A woman. Not just a woman—the kind of woman who makes the air leave your lungs. Long dark hair, bright eyes, a nervous smile that could light a room. She carried a single duffel and for a moment I forgot my name. “Hi, I'm Billie" she said softly. “You must be—” “Y-yeah. Come in.” Behind me, Emma rose from the couch, her smile faltering as soon as she saw Billie. I caught the shift instantly—shoulders tight, lips pressed. The way her hand found mine felt less like affection and more like a claim. That night, I lay awake listening to Billie move around the guest room, and Emma beside me, stiff, silent, pretending to sleep. I hadn’t asked for this. I hadn’t expected her. But every glance at Billie made something stir in me I didn’t want to admit. And every look from Emma reminded me of exactly how dangerous two weeks could be. The next morning, I woke early. Careful not to wake Emma, I slipped out of bed and down the hall. The smell hit me first, coffee and eggs. I turned the corner into the kitchen and stopped. Billie was there, barefoot, hair a little messy, wearing pajamas. She glanced over her shoulder, spatula in hand, and gave me that same shy smile from the night before.