It’s one of my least favorite parts of how my brain works. The need isn’t always triggered when I’m overwhelmed, but when it is, the urge to flee is like an incessant, unreachable itch.
That sensation hits me now, along with a wave of sorrow. This is not what I expected to feel tonight.
Dinner was perfect. Our time together after was, too.
Yet here I am, overreacting, tarnishing it all.
With a shaky breath, I fight back tears. I use the bathroom, wash my hands, and splash cold water on my face, but all the while, the compulsion togoplagues me.
Maybe a glass of water will help. Or I could step out onto the terrace and get a bit of fresh air.
Quietly, I crack open the bedroom door. Then I tiptoe into the main living space, hoping I don’t wake Alaric, wherever he may be.
“Evangeline,” a low voice says when I’m mere feet from the kitchen.
I shriek, practically jumping out of my skin, my adrenaline skyrocketing as I whip around.
Alaric rises from the couch, holding a large hardback book.
With a hand to my chest, I suck in a harsh breath and force it back out.
He’s shirtless, with a pair of joggers slung low on his tapered hips. And he’s wearing the most adorable wire-framed reading glasses.
Drinking him in does nothing to calm me, though.
“Angel…”
He takes two steps toward me before he stops himself, concern marring expression.
“What’s wrong?”
Nothing.
Everything.
“I’m so sorry about the mess,” I mutter. “I don’t know if that’s why you’re out here, but I swear I’ll get it all cleaned up tomorrow.”
Expression hardening, he sets his book on the couch. Then with measured steps, he crosses the room.
“Come here,” he insists, pulling me into his chest.
Pathetically, I sink into him.
“Baby, you’re trembling.”
I’m also on the verge of bursting into tears.
“I’m sorry,” I rasp out.
Gripping my shoulders, he cranes back, assessing me with a frown. “I don’t know what’s going on in that beautiful head of yours, but you have absolutely nothing to be sorry about.”
“But the bathroom. My mess?—”
He brings one finger to my lips and hits me with the sternest glare, effectively silencing me.
“I don’t always sleep well,” he murmurs. “Especially the first night in any place. Reading helps, but I didn’t want to disturb you by turning on a light, so I came out here.”
I peer past him to where his book is open on the couch, noting the soft glow of the lamp on the end table.
