Holt just happens to be here.
But what if he could be a memory I took with me?
Isn’t it time I stopped waiting for life to happen to me and started reaching for what I want?
The answer settles in my chest. It feels right.
Decision made, I close the journal just as the scent of bacon reaches me and my stomach growls, reminding me that dinner was a long time ago.
I pull on some leggings and a T-shirt and step into the hallway, following the mouthwatering smell to the kitchen.
Holt stands at the stove, his back to me. His sleeves are rolled up, exposing those thick, strong forearms. There’s something about a man with strong arms…
Especially one who can cook.
He hasn’t noticed me yet, and I take the moment to watch how easily he moves around the space. Confident and capable. Completely at ease.
There’s something dangerous about it, too.
Especially knowing I’ve already decided this doesn’t have to mean anything.
My lips curve into a slow, sassy smile,and for the first time in way too long, I’m not worried about consequences.
Holt
With my back to the hallway, my hands occupied with plating breakfast, and my thoughts firmly focused on anythingbuther, I didn’t hear her come in.
“So,” she says lightly. “Is this the part where I pretend I didn’t just wake up in your bed?”
I jerk slightly, the spatula clattering against the pan.
Fuck.
I turn, and the words I was about to say die in my throat. I’ve just spent the last thirty minutes convincing myself to remember she’s Luke’s kid and just like that…I forget why.
She looks different than last night.
Relaxed and confident in a way she wasn’t last night. She’s wearing leggings and a tight T-shirt that hugs her tits beautifully, with only an inch of creamy skin on her midriff exposed.
Her blonde hair is loose in waves over her shoulder, her eyes bright. She looks rested, and there’s a softness to her that shouldn’t feel so fucking dangerous.
But it does.
She’s way too damn beautiful to be ignored.
The realization hits hard, low, and unwelcome, cutting straight through my resolve.
What I need is distance, but now she’s standing less than ten feet from me, smiling like she knows exactly what she’s doing.
And what she’s doing tome.
She hums thoughtfully, leaning against the doorframe in a way that thrusts one curvy hip out.
“Hungry?” I deliberately ignore her earlier comment and continue plating breakfast, using the distraction to look anywhere but at her.
“Starving.”
There’s something in the way she says it while her gaze drifts over me, slow and unguarded. It’s not accidental. It’s very intentional.
