I’m not used to feeling like this, especially while lingering at my front door in full view of Mrs. Chen, who’s probably monitoring any outdoor activity through her curtains with her “bird-watching” binoculars.
His car pulls up to the curb, a dark and polished contrast to my cheerful blue house with its sagging porch and rainbow wind chimes. He climbs out and saunters toward me with an unnerving grace that dries my mouth, each step measured and deliberate…a predator’s advance.
My heart hammers against my ribs like a caged lion hurling itself against the bars. I should demand he leave, lock my door, and distract myself with craft supplies and lesson plans. Maybe I can pretend none of this ever happened. Not the farmers market, not the restaurant, not my kitchen counter, nor the chaos at Hobby Hut. I should reclaim my meticulously ordered life of alphabet songs and paper doll chains and proper dates with boring lawnmower aficionados named Greg.
But as he draws near, I note the tension in his shoulders, the tightness of his jaw, and the faint shimmer on his dark jacket.
Glitter. A stamp of approval.
His knuckles are red, scraped raw from the fight.
Because of me.
For me.
He might be a mistake, but he’s the most exciting mistake of my life. I feel terrifyingly alive in a way I haven’t since…
I was nine years old, sprinting through rain and gunfire on a beach that smelled of smoke and blood.
After that night on the island, I haven’t chanced many risks.
A nine-year-old is allowed to mess up. I’m twenty-four. Can I really afford to make a mistake now?
My focus fixes on his hard frown and the shadowed eyes that seem to see right through all my careful defenses.
Can I afford to not make one? I might never have another opportunity.
The last fifteen years have been a long exercise in ensuring my safety through cautious choices. In building walls to keep the fear at bay. But it found me anyway, in Hobby Hut of all places.
And Kolya slipped through the shadows with the ease of a longtime acquaintance.
Maybe it’s time to stop running and face the darkness. With him.
He stops a few feet away, that impossible stillness settling over him like a second skin, and I detect the pulse-skipping scent of him. Soap and heat and danger.
I’m teetering on the edge of a cliff that could shatter the careful life I’ve built. One step forward, and there’s no going back to kindergarten crafts and dates with men who drone on about nothing that actually matters. One step back, and I might spend the rest of my life wondering what could have been.
His gaze meets mine, and for the first time, I spot a genuine fracture in his perfect control.
His chest rises and lowers. “Hey.” That low drawl feels like velvet rubbing against my skin.
Like an invitation or a door opening. Permission to make the biggest mistake of my adult life.
I realize I’ve already decided.
Maybe I decided the moment I spotted him at the farmers market. Whatever happens next, I’ll walk forward with my eyes wide open.
Once we’re inside, I shut the door behind us and take a moment to catch my breath.
A difficult feat with Kolya so close.
I drink in the lean line of his torso, his tight ass, those muscular arms hanging by his sides…
The bright red blood on his knuckles.
“Oh, gosh. Your hand. One second.” I kick off my shoes by the door—muscle memory more than conscious decision—and slide my fuzzy pink slippers on. A simple action to banish the outside and all its filth from my house.
The familiar routine grounds me, providing a tiny piece of normalcy in this surreal day.
