Electronic keypad lock. Auto-lock feature. Something secure.
I can install it myself.
Easy fix.
No more worrying about someone just walking in on her.
No more worrying, period.
At least not unless I’m in there with her.
Because yes, that’s happening.
I step inside, taking in her apartment—and for a second, everything else fades.
It’s small.
Too small for us. For her.
But it’s just so her, and I can’t help but grin.
Everywhere—I can see it. Pieces of Hadley that she put into making this place a home.
The air smells like vanilla and something floral—light, sweet, comforting.
The walls are painted this soft creamy white, and there are frames hanging up—pressed wildflowers, delicate and pretty, like she picked them herself and couldn’t bear to throw them away.
Long, gauzy curtains drift in the breeze from an open window.
Another thing I don’t like.
Not the curtains—those are cute as fuck.
But who the hell leaves their windows open like that?
Anyone could—shit.
I clamp down on that thought too, but it doesn’t stop the protective edge sharpening inside me.
She needs better locks.
Better windows.
Better everything.
My gaze tracks her as she moves through the space, setting her keys down, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear like she’s trying to act normal.
Like I’m not standing in her apartment.
Like I didn’t just carry her bags upstairs without asking.
“You can put those down in here,” she says, glancing back at me.
I follow her.
And the second I step into her bedroom?
Yeah.
