The worst part?
I hadn’t regretted it for a second.
She’d wandered the path like she existed in another reality entirely, stopping every few minutes to stare at something most people would overlook.
A glowing flower blooming between roots.
Rainwater caught in spiderwebs.
The stars flickering between storm clouds.
She noticed everything.
Took it in with this quiet wonder I couldn’t remember ever feeling myself.
And now—now she was late.
And I was slowly going insane with worry.
I glanced toward the forest again, irritation sharpening into unease.
“Fuck,” I muttered.
The moon hadn’t risen yet, meaning the shadows were thinner tonight. Harder to manipulate. Harder to hide within.
Still—if she got lost in those woods, if she was hurt—the thought alone made my stomach twist violently.
I shoved off the porch, already moving toward the tree line.
Then—I heard it.
Humming.
Soft.
Faint.
I froze.
Tilted my head.
Listened.
Five minutes later, she appeared between the trees.
And my heart—that dead thing sitting below my ribcage—actually fucking stumbled.
She wore cutoff jean shorts tonight.
Tiny ones.
The kind that showed entirely too much thigh and made me instantly violent toward every male currently breathing on this island.
Her bright blue shirt stretched tightly across her chest, outlining every lush curve beneath it.
My mouth went dry.
My cock hardened so fast it bordered on painful.
