But before I can reverse back the way I came, the door clicks shut behind me, and his head lifts.
Dark eyes find mine. Storm-dark eyes, framed by dark lashes.
For a moment, neither of us moves, and all I can hear is the thud-thud-thud of my heart as I familiarize myself with his scent. My face grows hot. While he remains super-cool, my scent clearly having no effect on him.
He’s tall, I can tell, even sitting, with broad shoulders that speak of strength held in check. Everything about him is controlled. Intentional. And so beautiful, my teeth bite together with a jolt that I feel in every part of me when I realize I’m gaping.
"Sorry, I didn't know anyone used this place," I say.
"They don't." His voice is low, even.
I glance around at the cracked pots and wonky workbenches. He isn’t here to grow anything.
"Then why are you here?"
He tilts his head slightly, considering. "Same reason you are, probably."
I blink. I want to stay, but the greenhouse suddenly feels too small.
He rises then, with the kind of deliberate ease that suggests he's giving me time to adjust to his presence. He's taller than Iexpected, easily a head above me. As he shifts his weight, the sleeve of his henley pulls slightly, and I catch a clearer glimpse of the tattoo on his inner forearm: a compass rose, simple and precise, rendered in clean black lines. North pointing toward his elbow.
He stays near the back wall. "Just arrived." His gaze flicks briefly to the bag at my side. It's not a question.
"That obvious, huh?"
He almost smiles. Almost. And part of me wishes he had because I’m trying to picture his face beaming although, at this rate, I’d probably melt into a puddle of gooey omega instincts on the floor if he did. "You walked in like you were looking for somewhere quiet."
"I was." I lick my lips. It’s a tough habit to crack.
"So was I." He shrugs. “I’m Calder.”
I take one small step further inside. "Calder.” I like how it sounds on my tongue. “Am I interrupting?"
His jaw tightens. "No." But the way he says it sounds likeyes.
He doesn't look at me directly as he moves to the door, but I feel the weight of his awareness anyway. The air shifts when he's close, his scent dizzying, like standing in the middle of a tall forest and straining to see beyond the treetops.
Up close, I notice details I couldn't see from across the room. A small scar through his left eyebrow. The way his dark hair falls slightly over his forehead, like he's pushed it back more than once today. His hand rests on the door frame, fingers spread slightly.
"It's yours if you want it," he says. His gaze meets mine, and heat pools somewhere deep inside my core.
I try to ignore it. "You were here first. I don’t want you to leave because of me."
"I’m not." Blunt. But something in the stormy gray of his eyes softens the edges. "I was leaving anyway."
It's not true. He’s leaving so that I can stay.
"Why?" I ask before I can stop myself.
I have the bizarre notion that if he leaves now, something will be broken. A spell. A moment we’ll never be able to recreate. I don’t know why I’m clinging to it, but it’s almost as if the greenhouse brought us both here for a reason.
He doesn't answer right away. Just looks at me—really looks—like he's measuring something I can't see. Then, "Because you need it more than I do."
The door closes softly behind him.
I stand there, pulse ticking unevenly, warmth settling back into the silence.
A soft sound breaks the stillness, a low, rasping purr.
