We're still holding hands, and it would be so fucking easy to be to lean forward and…
No. Not going there. Morgan is grieving. She's vulnerable and hurt and trying to honor her sister's memory. The last thing she needs is me making things complicated.
Even if the way she's looking at me right now makes me want to do exactly that.
"We're quite a pair, aren't we?" she whispers. "Both carrying around all this pain, trying to figure out how to keep going."
"Yeah," I agree. "We are."
"Does it get easier? The grief?"
I think about the question. About the three years since Sarah left, the way the sharp edges of that betrayal have slowly dulled into something I can live with.
"It gets different," I say finally. "Not easier, exactly. But different. You learn how to carry it. How to build a life around it instead of letting it consume everything."
"I hope you're right."
"I am. And hey, for what it's worth, you're doing better than you think. You got up this morning. You helped me at the shop. You made Riley laugh. Those are all wins."
"Small wins."
"Still wins." I give her hand one more squeeze before reluctantly letting go. "And you're going to have more of them. Bigger ones. You're going to figure out how to honor your sister while also living your own life. I believe that."
"You barely know me."
"I know enough."
"You're a really good person, Casey," she says.
"So are you, Morgan."
Chapter 7 - Morgan
His hand slips away from mine, and I immediately miss the contact.
I hate this. Hate how close we are in this tiny break room with its flickering fluorescent light and terrible coffee. Hate how kind he is, how he just shared something so painful and vulnerable with me. Hate how my eyes keep dropping to his mouth, to those lips that look so soft and perfect.
And I especially hate that he's still shirtless.
Is he fucking serious right now? Does he not realize what he looks like? All those muscles, the defined abs, the way his jeans sit low on his hips. The sheen of sweat on his skin from working in the heat.
He looks like a goddamn Greek god, and I'm sitting here trying not to combust.
I caught him looking at my lips. I know I did. His eyes dropped down, lingered for just a second too long before he pulled back. But he didn't make a move.
And I wanted him to. God, I wanted him to kiss me so badly that my whole body aches with it.
I'm fucking soaked. Have been since the moment he took my hand, maybe even before that. Every time he looks at me with those blue eyes, every time he smiles, every time he does something kind without expecting anything in return, it all goes straight between my legs.
I've been horny before. I'm twenty-six and I have a working vibrator and an imagination. But this is different. This is raw desire, the kind that makes my skin feel too tight and my thoughts scatter.
Has he been alone so long that he doesn't realize what he does to women? That he could probably have anyone he wanted if he just... tried?
Or is he just that oblivious?
"I try," he says, pulling me from my spiral of inappropriate thoughts. "To be a good person. Every single day. For Riley. Because she deserves that."
"You're not just trying," I tell him, and the words come out more intense than I intended. "You're doing an incredible job. You're amazing with her, Casey. Anyone can see that."
