I didn’t have words. Just a smile. Just a yawn. Just the ache of something new and terrifying unfolding inside me.
“All done, little lady,” he said. He wrapped me in a thick, warm towel, lifting me from the water like I was something rare.
“I’ve put out some sweats and a jumper,” he added, nodding to the next room. “Put your wet stuff in this bin. I’ll wash and dry them for you.”
“Okay,” I mouthed.
“Anytime, babe. Helps that you’re cute,” he winked, disappearing through the bathroom door.
When I caught my reflection in the mirror, I startled.
I didn’t recognize her, the woman wrapped in grey fluff, cheeks pale, mascara smudged like tears that forgot where they belonged. Her lips were bare. Her eyes are dull. She looked… empty.
I reached up, brushing my fingers across my collarbone, to my lips, then up to my hairline.You’re a mess, Penn.
I stepped into the next room, eyes sweeping across a space that didn’t belong to a mail guy.
It looked like a photo fromHouse & Homemagazine walls of windows, ocean views, and designer furniture. Clean lines. Monochrome tones. A king-sized bed flanked by hanging lights like falling stars. His scent was everywhere. Musk and woods and whatever it was that made my stomach flip.
I padded to the window, pressing my palms and cheek against the cool glass. I breathed him in. His space. His kindness. The impossibility of him.
He found me. I hadn’t messaged. Carrie hadn’t either. But hefound me.And brought me here. Bathed me. Touched me like I mattered.
A stranger, but he felt like someone I’d known in another life. Someone who could rebuild me, piece by piece, if I let him.
His kindness scared me.
But his hands? His hands made me feel alive.
And his eyes? They held hope.
And his smile?
His smile looked like sin.
A loud knock raps against the door just as I pull the hoodie over my head, soft as sin and swallowing me whole. I jump, a startled yelp slipping out.
“Shit, sorry, Penn. You okay?” Dane’s husky voice bleeds through the door.
“Yeah. You just gave me a fright.”
The door creaks open slowly. “Can I—”
“Come in. Yes. After all, thisisyour place, right?”
I tug my curls free from under the hood and let them fall down my back.
“Yes, this is my place,” he says with a low laugh, stepping toward me. He takes my hands in his, rough and warm.
“Mail boy and mystery man doesn’t quite add up, huh?” I shake my head, a small smile playing on my lips.
“Not really. But it’s none of my business what you do or why you live here. Whereverhereeven is.”
His eyes flick around the room. “I’ll tell you. Just not today.” A pause. “Dinner’s ready.”
He pulls me gently down the hallway. The dining room is set like something out of a memory I never had, quietly intimate, a single black candle in the centre, its base wrapped with tiny white rosebuds. I swallow hard. This version of Dane, soft, romantic, will always undo me.
Before him, I thought Blake was the pinnacle of romance. But when you’ve only known one kind of love, even the crumbs can look like a feast.
