But my brain does not stay steady.
Because my imagination is a traitor.
It immediately paints her in steam and warm water, hair damp and curling, freckles darker against flushed skin. It paints her shoulders bare. It paints her mouth parted. It paints the kind of softness I told myself I don’t deserve.
Heat spreads low in my gut, sudden and unwelcome.
I clench my jaw and force my gaze away before she can see anything on my face.
“Bathroom’s through there,” I say, pointing. “You’ll find clean towels in the drawer.”
She nods and kicks off her boots, a little clumsy like her legs are finally admitting they’re tired.
She sets her purse down, shrugs out of her coat next, hanging it on the hook by the door with careful hands, then turns and sets the flowers down gently.
Then she slips her purse back onto her shoulder and heads down the hall.
The bathroom door clicks shut.
I stand in my living room with a dog at my feet and my cabin suddenly full of a woman I can’t stop thinking about.
Chapter 3
Nova
Theshowerisatemporary truce with my own brain.
Hot water hits my shoulders and my whole body tries to melt into the tile like it’s been waiting for permission to stop holding itself together.
My hands shake when I wash my hair, when I scrub the road off my skin, when I breathe in steam and pine-scented soap.
Maverick’s cabin is warm. Quiet. Solid.
Which should make me feel safe.
Instead, it makes my brain start doing cartwheels.
Because warm and solid is how you fall for things.
That is the problem.
I am not here to fall for anything.
I am here to disappear for a weekend, catch my breath, and figure out what to do next without my life exploding in my face.
Simple.
Except the man who bought me flowers is currently in the next room, and the only time anyone has bought me flowers in my entire life was when my fiancé did it after he messed up, like petals were a receipt that proved he didn’t mean it.
Maverick didn’t buy me flowers like that.
He bought them because every woman deserves flowers on Valentine’s Day.
Like it was a rule.
I keep replaying it in my head like it’s a song I don’t want to like.
Too reliable.
