"Hey," I say, stepping back to let her in.
"Hey, yourself." She enters, her eyes widening slightly as she takes in the floor-to-ceiling windows with their panoramic view of the Pittsburgh skyline. "Wow. Nice place."
"Thanks. It's, uh, a bit much, I know." I close the door, suddenly self-conscious about the obvious display of wealth.
"No, it's..." She pauses, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "Very you."
"I'm not sure if that's a compliment."
"Neither am I." But she smiles, taking the sting out of her words.
I lead her further into the living room, uncomfortably aware of her eyes on me. "Can I get you a drink? Wine? Beer? Water?"
"Wine would be nice," she says, wandering to the windows. "The view is incredible."
I head to the kitchen, grateful for something to do with my hands. I open a bottle of red that my brother Gunnar suggested I buy, some expensive vintage I know nothing about except that it costs about the same as my fancy whiskey.
When I return with two glasses, Sloane has moved to my shelves, examining the few personal items I have displayed—mostly team photos and family pictures from various Stag gatherings.
"Your family?" she asks, nodding toward a photo from last Christmas.
"Yeah. My brothers and cousins." I hand her a glass, careful not to brush her fingers with mine. Even so, I feel that same electric awareness that's been haunting me since the ski house. "Big family."
"I can see that." She sips the wine, her eyes still on the photo. "You all look alike."
“Dad says the Stag genes are strong," I say without thinking. "My dad and his brothers could be quadruplets."
She turns to face me, and for a moment we just stand there, too close, neither of us moving away. I can smell her perfume—that light and floral scent that dances in my dreams and makes me want to bury my face in her neck.
"I have your necklace," I say, my voice rougher than intended. I pull it from my pocket and hold it out to her.
Her eyes light up, genuine delight spreading across her face. "I can't believe you found it. I was sure it was gone forever."
I watch as she takes it from my palm, her fingers brushing mine. "I figured it was important."
"It was from my grandmother.” She fumbles with the clasp. "The one who died."
“Essie. Right.” Without thinking, I step behind her. "Here, let me."
She hands me the necklace and lifts her hair, exposing the nape of her neck. I move closer, acutely aware of her warmth, the subtle curve where her neck meets her shoulder. My fingers feel too large, too clumsy for the delicate clasp, but I manage to secure it.
Instead of stepping away, I stay there, breathing her in. "There," I say softly. I trail a finger along the chain, feeling her smooth, soft skin beneath my calloused hand.
She turns, still close enough that I feel the warmth of her body. Her hand moves to the pendant at her throat. "Thank you."
We're so close I can see the flecks of gold in her green eyes,the slight unevenness of her breathing. Neither of us moves, caught in a moment of shared awareness that feels both familiar and entirely new.
"We should sit," I say finally, breaking the spell. We should not sit. I shouldn’t fuckingsitwith Grentley’s ex. "The wine's done breathing. Or whatever it does."
She smiles and nods, following me to the sectional. I sit at a respectable distance, but the space between us feels charged, alive with possibility.
"So," I start, searching for safe conversation. "Public health. That's your major?"
"Yeah." She tucks one leg beneath her, getting comfortable. "I'm just starting back. It's... intimidating, going back to school after so long."
"Why public health?" I'm genuinely curious, I realize. I want to know more about her, everything about her.
A shadow crosses her face. "Family history. My dad was killed in a car accident while my mom was pregnant with me. Mom treated her grief with substance abuse. I'd like to work in prevention programs someday."
