Trousers first.
Then button-downs.
Then blazers.
Darkest to lightest.
Even spacing.
When I reach for the next hanger, I feel his stare on my back, heavy and focused.
I hang another shirt.
Soap and cedarwood fill my nose when he moves closer. “They’re color-coded.”
I glance up at him. “I know.”
He just stares at me.
“Our closets are the same.” I smooth my hand over the sleeve of his navy shirt.
“How would you know how I organize my closet?”
I lift another hanger. “You seem like the sort of man who likes order.”
He’s quiet for a beat. “That’s a hell of a guess.”
I smile faintly and hang the last shirt.
He moves closer still. I feel the heat of him now.
“Violet.”
I slowly look up.
His shirt is open at the throat, sleeves pushed up, and he still looks perfectly undone and confused.
His eyes drop briefly to my mouth before returning to mine.
Something tightens low in my stomach.
“What?” I ask softly.
He opens his mouth?—
Then closes it.
His gaze searches mine as if he’ll find answers there if he looks long enough.
He won’t.
At least, not the ones he wants.
Luna darts between us, batting at his shoelace again.
He steps back with a muttered curse, looking down at the kitten.
I bend and scoop her up before she can launch herself at his other foot.
