Twenty steps of silence later, and Ashton finally blurts. “So… Nathan. Shall we dissect?”
I groan. “I knew the silence was too much to ask for. Please don’t.”
But she’s already in full investigative mode, her tone clinical, like she’s presenting evidence in court. “Tall. Broad. Keeps to himself. Shows signs of anger.”
“He does not,” I cut in, though my brain immediately replays the image of his bandaged hand.
Ashton arches a brow. “You sure about that? Because I’m leaning toward mysterious, possibly violent, but in a vigilante way. Hmm…” She taps her chin thoughtfully. “Could he be Batman?”
I shoot her a look.
“What? It fits. Think about it, disappears for days, always looks like he’s carrying the weight of the world, definitely has the jawline for a cowl.”
“Stop analyzing him like you’re writing a dissertation.”
Her grin is downright menacing and innocent all at once. “Just connecting the dots.”
I shake my head, heat creeping up my neck. “You’re impossible.”
“Maybe. But if your neighbor starts brooding on rooftops at night, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
And despite myself, I laugh.
I highly doubt he’s brooding over anything, least of all me, but the thought does make me smile—way longer than it should.
Chapter 6
Nathan
I unlock the door to my penthouse and step inside. The city noise fades behind me, but it’s still there…faint, like an echo I can’t get rid of. I set my keys down on the counter and stare at the empty apartment.
I don’t know what it is about her.
The girl.
She keeps showing up. First, the elevator. Then my office.
And then today, I ended up at her bakery.
I don’t get it.
I don’t get why she’s in my head at all.
She’s a stranger. A little awkward. Trips. Spills things. Every interaction we’ve had has been… messy.
And yet, she’s beautiful in a way that doesn’t fit the rest of the picture.
That’s what bothers me. There’s no reason for this. No reason to feel anything.
Maybe that’s the answer. There is nothing.
Probably nothing. And that’s exactly where it needs to stay.
I run a hand through my hair, try to shake the thought off,
I move without thinking—across the room, to my desk. The scissors dragged slow through the paper, the sound too loud inthe quiet. I didn’t rush it—clean edge, straight line. It mattered for some reason. Everything did.
I pressed the clipping into place, thumb lingering just a second too long before the pin slid through it and into the board. Another piece. Another connection that still didn’t quite make sense.
