She doesn’t drive.
I take another sip—and scald my tongue.
Shit. Did she have her driver drop her off just to follow me?
The burn barely registers. Or maybe I just don’t care.
When I look back inside, she’s foldingthe blanket I used on the couch last night. Still humming. Unhurried. Completely at ease.
Like she belongs there.
I shouldn’t like any of this. At all.
But I do.
God help me, I do.
7
IVY
I’m in the library, drinking an iced coffee and reorganizing my bookshelf by emotional vibe instead of genre.
The pounding of his feet against the frozen ground draws my attention to the trail behind my house.
Sebastian runs past my house at 3:12 p.m. That’s two hours and seventeen minutes earlier than his normal evening runs.
He looks tense.
His stride is sharper. His shoulders are tight. Jaw is clenched like he’s arguing with someone who isn’t there.
When he disappears into the trees, I find myself frowning at the window.
Something’s off.
And I know exactly what will help.
I grab my coat, tug on my boots, and head out.
The woods are quiet, the air crisp, my breath puffing in little clouds as I follow the familiar path toward his house.
By the time I reach his backyard, the place is still and empty.
I slip around to the back patio—because I know thepatio door is unlocked—and step inside like I’ve done this a hundred times instead of three.
The kitchen greets me with yesterday’s coffee cup in the sink and a dishwasher that’s full.
I smile to myself.
Don’t worry, Sebastian. I’ve got this.
I set to work immediately—unloading the dishwasher, rinsing dishes, moving with purpose.
I pull ingredients from the fridge, mentally mapping out a dinner that’s hearty without being heavy. Comforting. Grounding.
Chicken. Potatoes. Roasted vegetables.
Simple. Reliable.
