Sophia
I adjustmy posture in the small armchair by the window, my script balanced on my lap, but I can't focus—not on the words, not on the scene, not on anything. Every time I close my eyes, I feel Grant's hands on me, the heat of his mouth, the way we finally gave in. We didn't cross every line, but we crossed enough that there's no taking it back now. And I don't want to. I want more.
But what does that even mean? For us? For me? For the cautious behavior we've kept in place since I moved into his guest house?
I shake my head, exhaling sharply. Focus, Sophia. I've read the same line three times now, but it still doesn't feel right. Not yet.
Ugh! Ok, I've got to get out of this tiny room filled with the scents and sounds from last night before I walk over and throw myself at Grant.
I throw on some running shorts, a tank, and a light jacketsince I know it will be cool outside. I'm tying my shoes when I hear the tapping on my glass doors.
I raise my head and see the biggest chocolate chip eyes looking back at me over a big, toothy grin. My heart.
"Morning, Sophia!" Hazel yells through the glass.
I open the sliding door, and Hazel steps in and immediately hugs my legs. My hands move automatically, holding her head against my lower abdomen, and my fingers slip into her soft curls.
"Morning, nugget. Why are you up so early?"
"Dad is dropping me at Aunt Sarah's house. He has an early meeting with some East Coast assholes."
"Hazel!" Grant's voice is a gruff reprimand as he follows just a few steps behind.
"That's what you said, Dad!" She shrugs like she's obligated to repeat it exactly for the record.
I press my lips together to keep from laughing, but my eyes betray me when I glance up at Grant.
"Morning," he says. His eyes roam over my body, igniting tingles in the wake of his perusal.
"Morning." I fight the impulse to close the distance between us. "Sorry about the meeting with the East Coast folks."
"It's just a finance meeting. The investor relations team wants to talk through some numbers so they can spin a story for Wall Street."
"Sounds fun."
He smirks, the kind that says he hates it but thrives on it at the same time. It's one thing I admire about him—his ability to find purpose in all of it, even the mundane, theexhausting, the absolute bullshit of it all. I've spent years in this industry, but his gratitude for the process is something else entirely. Maybe that's why he's so successful. Maybe that's why he's so damn magnetic.
Our eyes catch, and suddenly, it's just us again. My pulse kicks up, and the air between us charges with the memory of his touch, the way he looked at me like he wanted to consume me, the way I wanted to give him everything.
I wonder if he's thinking about it now. If he wants more. If his hands are in his pockets because he's resisting the urge to touch me again. I want him to. God, I want him to.
Hazel, oblivious to the wildfire spreading between us, breaks us out of our trance.
"There's a play, and I think I might want to audition, but I think my friend Hannah is going to audition for the same thing I want to audition for, so I'm not sure. But Sophia, can you help me prepare a hologram?"
I blink, trying to process the whiplash of her words. "Hologram?"
"She means monologue," Grant says, covering his mouth to stifle his laughter.
"That's what I said! Monologue!" Hazel exclaims with her hands on her hips.
I don't hold back my laughter. Her confidence is enviable. I want to say yes immediately, but I glance up at Grant first to make sure he won't mind. I love helping her. I love seeing the world from her six-year-old perspective.
Grant catches my look and gives me the smallest nod, his silent cue that it's fine.
"I'd love to, nugget. When isthe audition?"
"Oh, I think it's tomorrow, but I'm not sure."
