Page 80 of Hearts Storm

Her voice comes out soft but guarded. “Alright.”

The second I cross the threshold and go to move past her, I’m hit with the scent of vanilla and coconut. It’s everywhere—in her hair, on her skin, soaked into every surface. My body reacts instantly, blood rushing south so fast I nearly stumble.

I have to physically stop myself from closing my eyes and breathing her in like some kind of creep.

Gripping the coffee carrier tighter than necessary, I force myself to keep moving.

“Shoes.” Her quick, sharp tone cuts through my haze, making me turn around. “Take them off, please.”

Right. Shoes. I look down at my boots, then back up at her. One eyebrow is hiked above ice-blue eyes, arms crossed under her full breasts. The action lifts her shirt up even higher, gifting me with a view of even more soft skin.

“Sorry.” I toe off one boot, then the other, lining them up neatly by the door.

“No worries.”

Brushing past me, her skin grazes mine, sending a zing up my arm. I watch her bare feet padding across the light hardwood floors, hips swaying with every step, trying not to stare at her ass as I follow dutifully behind.

The entryway opens into a bright, airy living room. Light pours in through two big bay windows. Colorful throw pillows are tossed haphazardly across a plush cream couch, with a fuzzy gray blanket tossed aside at one end—probably where she was curled up when I knocked on her door.

The walls are painted a soft sage green. A bookshelf sits in the corner, crammed with books, with a large flat-screen hanging above a modern fireplace.

An open-plan kitchen butts up to the living room, boasting a four-seater island with cushy barstools tucked underneath.

Reyna slides onto one of the stools, tucking one leg under the other as I take the spot kitty-corner to hers. Close enough to still catch her scent, but far enough away to keep from doing something stupid.

I slide one of the lattes across the counter.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, not quite meeting my eyes.

Setting the bag of food down, I take out the breakfast sandwiches. “Where are your plates?” I ask, glancing around the kitchen.

She starts to push off the stool. “Oh, I’ll grab them⁠—”

“No.” The word comes out a little on the gruff side, causing her to freeze mid-rise, so I soften my tone. “I’ll get them. You’re supposed to be taking it easy.”

Hesitating only for a moment, she sits back down, looking a bit uncomfortable. “They’re in the cabinet next to the fridge.”

I nod. Grabbing two, I set them on the counter before rifling through drawers for some silverware.

“So, how are you feeling this morning?” I ask, unwrapping one of the bacon, egg and cheese sammies.

Setting it and a cinnamon roll on a plate, I push it in front of her.

“Wow. This looks really good.”

Patiently, I wait for her to answer my question, watching as she takes a bite of her breakfast sandwich, side-eyeing me as she chews. “Is this why you stopped by?” she quips around a mouth full of food. “To torture me with more questions about how I’m doing?”

Narrowing my eyes, I give her a look that makes her stop chewing for a moment before she sighs. “The bump has gone down and I don’t have a headache anymore. And I have a doctor’s appointment this afternoon.” Swallowing, she reaches for her coffee and takes a sip. “Happy now?”

“Yep.”

We sit, eating in silence for a few minutes before I kick up the nerve to say what I came here to say. “I want to talk about what happened between us.”

thirty-four

Her head jerks up in surprise.

“I think maybe we need to clear the air,” I continue, keeping my voice steady around the sudden dryness in my throat. “About why you left.”