"Jess."
One word. My name. But the way he says it carries everything. All the years. All the silence. All the things we never got to say. All the apologies I owe him. All the explanations I don't know how to give.
His voice is deeper than I remember. Rougher. Like he's been swallowing gravel or keeping too many words locked inside for too long.
And hearing it, hearing him say my name after years of silence, does something to me. Something that makes my chest tight and my throat close and my stupid traitorous eyes start to burn.
Don't cry, I tell myself firmly. Do not cry on this sidewalk in front of Carlos. Have some dignity.
My body's doing its own thing as usual. Traitor.
He's crossing the street now, each step deliberate, careful, like he's approaching a spooked animal and doesn't want to scare it away. The winter sun catches the gold in his hair. His breath makes small clouds in the cold air. He's big, bigger than I remembered. Not just tall, but broad. Solid. Built from years of lifting lumber and swinging hammers and working with his hands.
The scent gets stronger as he gets closer.
"I heard you were back," he says when he's close enough that I can see the flecks of gold in his blue eyes. "Mrs. Whight called my mom. My mom called Sergio. Sergio called me." He shrugs, and the movement makes those shoulders shift under the flannel. "Small town."
I should say something. Anything. Ask him how he's been. Apologize for leaving. Make some stupid joke to break the tension that's thick enough to choke on.
Instead I just stand there like a deer in headlights, clutching my prescription slip like it's a life raft, fighting the urge to either burst into tears or close the distance between us and finish what we started years ago.
His eyes move over me. Not leering. Not objectifying. Just looking. Taking me in like he's memorizing every detail. Like he's afraid I'll disappear if he blinks.
"You look good," he says, and his voice drops lower. "Different. But good."
I'm wearing my mother's too tight gray sweater that keeps riding up over my stomach and her too loose jeans that keep sliding down my hips despite the belt cinched to its tightest notch. My blonde hair is unwashed and pulled back in a messy bun. I have dark circles under my eyes and no makeup and I probably still smell like yesterday's panic sweat.
But the way he's looking at me, like I'm wearing silk and diamonds instead of borrowed clothes, like I'm the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, makes heat creep up my neck and settle in my cheeks.
"Carlos." I finally find my voice. It comes out strangled. Wrong. Breathy in ways I didn't intend. "What are you doing here?"
"Waiting for you."
The honesty of it hits me in the chest.
"How did you know I'd be here?"
"Patricia texted Hazel who texted my assistant who texted me." He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Like I said. Small town."
Of course. The Largo Waters gossip network strikes again. By tonight, everyone will know that Jessica Delacroix went to see Dr. Negrorio. By tomorrow, they'll have theories about why. By next week, they'll probably know about the omega thing, the heat, everything.
I need to move. Need to get to the pharmacy and then home before I do something stupid.
"I should go," I say, taking a step toward the pharmacy. "My mom is expecting me."
It's a lie. Mom is in Mexico. But he doesn't need to know that.
I turn, trying to put distance between us, but I only make it two steps before his hand catches my elbow.
The contact stops me dead.
His fingers wrap around my arm through the thin fabric of Mom's sweater. The touch is gentle. Barely pressure. Just his hand on my elbow, that's all. Simple. Innocent.
Except it's not simple and there's nothing innocent about the way my body reacts.
Heat radiates from the point of contact. Not the medical kind that Pedro warned me about. The other kind. The kind that starts low in my belly and spreads outward in waves until my whole body is humming, thrumming, singing with awareness.
His scent washes over me, stronger now that he's touching me. Sandalwood and sawdust and alpha, filling my lungs until I can't breathe anything else. Until I don't want to breathe anything else.
