Titus carried his shirt in one hand while the heat pressed along his back.Each step was set by habit, the rhythm of a man who crossed property lines without thought but rarely stepped into kitchens.
The Victorian house came into view.It was once grand but now appeared worn, its boards curling and the porch shifting under the passing years.
Montana mornings like this passed for mercy.The temperature had already pushed toward eighty, but the air stayed dry enough that even the flies lost interest before reaching him.
Titus narrowed his eyes against the glare breaking over the roofline and dragged his forearm across his face before sweat reached his eyes.He adjusted the shirt over his shoulder, long past any concern for modesty.Roscoe never missed his way home, and lately that path always led here.
The porch steps shifted under his boots as he climbed, the paint peeling away in strips large enough to catch against his soles.He ran his hand along the post near the door, his fingers tracing rough wood and shallow cuts left by years of use.
Someone had tried to patch the gaps with caulk and left the job unfinished, creating seams that stood out.His heart moved in a steady rhythm that matched the land he worked, but the air pressed tighter through his chest the closer he came to the door.
Roscoe moved without hesitation.He pushed his nose against the sagging screen and slipped through the opening, his nails clicking against the worn linoleum inside.From the threshold, Titus took in the kitchen in a single sweep.
Sunlight crossed the floor in narrow bands, broken by the frame of the window and the angle of the cabinets.The smell of scorched coffee lingered in the air, layered with the sharp trace of onions left behind from the night before.
Titus stayed just outside, shifting his grip on the shirt, deciding whether to announce himself or let the moment stand on its own.He let the door swing wider.
Kyla stood at the sink.
Her posture stayed upright, every line of her body tight with control.Her shoulders were squared and her spine was straight.Her fingertips pressed hard against the edge of the counter.
From where he stood, her shape ran clean from the base of her neck down to her hips, steady and defined.
Roscoe brushed against her calves as he passed.The same dog that would run off anything that crossed the property settled near her without resistance.Kyla did not turn, but her elbows drew in slightly.A faint tremor moved through her left arm before she stilled it again.
She kept her focus on the garden beyond the window, but her breathing marked the space between them.Each inhale came tight, and each exhale was measured.
Titus remained where he was, filling the doorway with everything he carried into it.The counter in front of her held a dish towel bunched beneath one wrist, with soap clinging in thin streaks where water no longer ran.The air inside felt warmer than it had outside, with the heat caught and returned by tile and wood.
He did not move.Sweat gathered along his jaw and tracked down across his chest, but he ignored it.Her shirt, a faded green, had shifted at her waist and exposed a narrow strip of skin above her dark denim.Her grip on the counter tightened, and his body answered with a pull low in his stomach.
One step forward would close the distance.Another would change the room.He stayed where he was and waited for her to turn.
Kyla pivoted on bare feet, her shoulders still set as if she expected a fight.Her gaze locked onto his without hesitation, sharp and unwelcoming.Titus met it without blinking.
The peach rested in his hand.The skin felt soft beneath his fingers, and a drop of juice gathered near the curve of his wrist.Her eyes narrowed, then flicked to the fruit before returning to his face.He lifted it slightly, his arm extended between them, offering the fruit without pushing.
The scent reached her first.It was warm and sweet.Her focus slipped for a moment, just enough to notice.Her gaze dropped and then rose again, landing on his mouth.Her lips parted as she pulled in a breath.
Titus let a small smile settle along one side of his mouth and ran his thumb across the surface of the fruit.
“Brought you something.”
The words stayed even and rough at the edges, set to meet her where she stood without pressing further.
Kyla did not reach for it.
He stepped inside.
The screen door shut behind him with a sharp rattle, closing the space.Each step forward narrowed the distance between them.The floor creaked beneath his boots, and the heat from his skin settled into the cooler air of the room.He moved without rushing, testing whether she would step back or stand her ground.
She did not move.
He reached the counter and set the peach down near her hip, close enough that she would have to acknowledge it.His forearm brushed the sleeve of her shirt as he moved, the contact brief but unavoidable.He kept his fingers light against the fruit, careful not to linger, while making sure she registered how close he stood.
Silence filled the space between them.Her breathing shifted first, drawing deeper now and lifting her chest in a way that pulled his attention before he forced it back down.He kept his focus steady, resisting the urge to close the last inch between them.
She stayed where she was.He lowered his gaze to the peach, his thumb pressing into the skin where juice had begun to gather, and waited.
