When I saw her in that tub, I wanted to sink to my knees beside it and trail my fingers through the water. I wanted to watch the bubbles slide away. Wanted to find out if her skin tastes as good as it looks, if she'd make those breathy sounds if I put my mouth on her neck. I wanted to make her say my name.
I wanted, and I have no right.
She's Lucy. Connor's baby sister. I can still hear his voice from nine years ago, catching me watching her at her high school graduation. "She's off-limits, man. Your lifestyle would destroy someone like her."
He was right then. He's right now.
Not me.
I lay back and stare at the ceiling. Listen to the water drain. Listen to her moving around, getting ready for bed. Listen to her door close.
My shoulder aches. And I'm aware---too aware---that Lucy Wright is so close. In an oversized T-shirt. Brushing her hair. Sliding into bed.
I'm aware of her scent—warm vanilla, a hint of spice. The image burned into my brain: her wet skin, her parted lips, the surprise in her eyes that looked like heat. I'm aware, and I shouldn't be. But I am.
When sleep comes hours later, I dream of falling and catching and green eyes in candlelight. Of water and bubbles and pale skin. Of curves I want to map with my hands. I dream of Lucy Wright, and I wake before dawn with her name on my lips and the smell of vanilla and cinnamon in the air.
This is going to be a long three weeks.
Lucy
The kitchen smells of coffee and bacon.
I hover in the doorway, smoothing my sweater for the third time, trying to convince myself I can act normal. Ryder's at the table. Right across from my usual spot because the universe has a twisted sense of humor. His hair is damp from the shower we share—the shower where, twelve hours ago, he walked in on me in the bathtub.
Heat creeps up my neck at the memory. The way his eyes went dark. The way I couldn't move, didn't want to move, wanted him to step inside and—
"Morning, Lulu!" Emma's voice snaps me back. She's watching me with knowing eyes.
I force a smile. "Morning."
Connor looks up from his phone. "You're up early."
"Couldn't sleep." I pour coffee with hands that want to shake. I've been avoiding Mr. Carmichael's emails for two weeks now—another one arrived this morning about the shop lease. The deadline for the building purchase is December 31st, and I'm still fifteen thousand short.
Not thinking about that right now.
I slide into my seat. Directly across from Ryder. Our knees are three inches apart under the table.
"Sleep okay?" The question escapes before I can stop it.
His eyes meet mine. Hold for one heartbeat too long. "No."
The single word hangs between us, loaded with everything we're not saying.
Emma clears her throat. I grab my toast.
Maisie saves us by launching into a story about the snowman she wants to build today, complete with a carrot nose and button eyes, and can Uncle Ryder please help her right after breakfast?
I watch him with her. The way his expression goes soft. The way he listens to her three-year-old logic like it’s the most important thing in the world. He’ll be a good dad someday.
The thought makes my chest ache.
Connor's phone rings. He glances at the screen. "Work. I'll be back in ten." He steps outside, and suddenly it's just the four of us—me, Ryder, Emma, and Maisie chattering about snowmen.
Ryder's knee brushes mine under the table.
I freeze. It could be an accident. Except it happens again, and I know it's not.
