And I wasn’t ready for that. Not even close.
I paused outside her door, trying to figure out how to knock without sounding like a man on the verge of an emotional breakdown. I told myself this was harmless.
Friendly. Platonic.
That word sounded wrong even in my head.
Still, I raised my hand and knocked lightly.
There was a pause on the radio or television, and finally soft footsteps, a sleepy shuffle, and the sound of her unlocking the door.
When it opened, I forgot how to breathe.
She stood there, blinking at me in the early light, hair tousled in every direction like she’d just rolled out of a very good dream or a very long night. Her oversized buffalo plaid nightshirt fell halfway down her bare thighs, the sleeves too long, the collar slipping slightly off one shoulder.
And just like that, I knew this was a terrible,terribleidea.
“Drew?” she said, voice rough and warm from sleep. “It’s eight in the morning.”
I held up the cup. “Peace offering.”
Her brow furrowed. “Peace for what?”
“For existing,” I said before I could stop myself. “And for being an idiot the last while.”
She squinted at me, trying not to smile. “You brought me coffee for existing?”
“Technically, it’s a peppermint mocha,” I said, handing it over. “Riley’s idea. She said caffeine fixes most bad moods.”
Melanie took the cup, her fingers brushing mine. She smelled like vanilla and sleep and something that made rational thought impossible.
“This doesn’t mean I’m forgiving you for… whatever you think you did wrong,” she said, though her tone was softer than her words.
“I’ll take my chances,” I said, forcing a grin.
She took a cautious sip, eyes fluttering shut for a second. “Okay, fine. It’s perfect.”
“Riley’ll be thrilled,” I said, shifting my weight so I didn’t do something stupid like reach out and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.
She leaned against the doorframe, holding the cup close to her chest.
“You look cold,” she said after a moment.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not wearing gloves.”
“I’ve got calloused hands,” I said, wiggling my fingers.
She gave me a look. “That’s not a personality trait.”
“Tell that to half the tourists who come through this town.”
She laughed, shaking her head, and the sound hit me square in the chest. It was the same laugh that had been haunting me for weeks—low, genuine, a little self-conscious.
“You’re ridiculous,” she said.
“Still sounds like a…” I stopped myself.
