Page 74 of Wanna Bet?

Last night had been a disaster. The best disaster of her entire life.

Myah sat cross-legged on her couch, coffee cooling between her palms as she watched Jace wage war against her closet door.

"Motherf—" The screwdriver slipped from his hand and the door shifted before Jace nearly took a hinge to the face.

She bit her lip to keep from laughing.

The glare he shot at the door could have melted steel.

"You okay over there?" she asked.

"The door and I are having a disagreement."

Myah snorted.

The door had been off its frame for three years. Three years. Most people saw a detached closet door and thought someone was lazy. Jace knew better. He knew exactly why it had happened. He knew she'd ripped it off during one of the worst spirals of her life. One of those moments when everything inside her felt too loud and too big and too impossible to contain.

Most people had either judged her for it or quietly pretended not to notice. Jace had simply woken up that morning, stared at the detached door for approximately ten seconds, and announced: "I'm fixing that." As if it were the most natural thing in the world. As if she deserved to have things fixed.

Her chest squeezed. God, I love him.

The realization didn't hit like lightning anymore. It settled, all warm and steady.

Jace adjusted the hinge again. The movement pulled the sleeve of his T-shirt higher. Myah's attention immediately abandoned all rational thought. Not that she'd had much of that to begin with.

His dark, shoulder length hair was a complete mess from sleep and so soft looking, falling into his eyes every thirty seconds. Every time it did, he'd shove it back impatiently. The swirled tattoos running down his arm twisted when his muscles flexed. Black ink disappearing beneath his shirt before reappearing along his side. Every line familiar, now. Every curve memorized.

Her gaze dropped lower to the grey sweatpants that hung perfectly on his hips. The universe was cruel. That was the only explanation.

Nobody should look that good while fighting a closet door.

Jace caught her staring and a grin tugged at one corner of his mouth. "You know," he said, "if you're not going to help, you could at least stop objectifying me."

Myah gasped dramatically. "I am appreciating art."

"Art?"

"Absolutely."

His grin widened. "You're ridiculous." Jace returned his attention to the hinge. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

The silence wasn't uncomfortable. It felt different now, almost gentler. Like something fragile had finally stopped breaking.

The door suddenly slid into place and Jace froze. Myah sat up a little straighter, leaning towards the door in awe. The door remained standing as Jace slowly, carefully, released it.

"Oh my God," Myah breathed. She hadn't seen that door attached in so long that it almost looked wrong now.

Jace stared. "I won." The sheer disbelief in his voice made her laugh. He turned toward her with both arms raised. "I won!"

"You beat the door!" Myah laughed, clapping excitedly for him.

He bowed before jumping onto the bed and tackling Myah to the mattress. He was laying above her, loose, dark curls drifting just above her nose. And just like that, the tension she'd been carrying since last night eased a little more. For a few moments neither of them said anything, until Jace bent down and dropped a soft kiss to Myah’s cheek before lifting himself off.

Eventually Jace exhaled. "We should probably talk."

Myah's stomach immediately flipped. "Yeah."

His fingers found hers. Intertwining. She stared at their joined hands. At the calluses on his fingers. At the way he held on.