Page 38 of Knot Your Sugar

She's looking up at me now, those green eyes like clear forest pools, seeming to see right through me. Her lips are slightly parted, her breath coming a bit faster than it should be from such a small stumble. The streetlight catches the flush on her cheeks, whether from alcohol, exertion, or something else entirely, I can't tell.

And then there's her scent. Damn.

It’s slightly stronger than it was yesterday in the first aid tent. Subtle still, yet compelling… in a way that makes me want to bury my face in her neck and breathe her in.

Boundaries, Cole.

But boundaries are getting harder to maintain when she's looking at me like that. When the air carries her scent straight to a primal part of my brain that doesn't give a damn about being appropriate.

"Thanks," she whispers, her voice softer than usual.

I should step back. Put distance between us. Instead, I find myself adjusting my grip slightly, my thumb brushing against her jacket in what might be the world's smallest caress.

What the hell am I doing?

Before I can answer that question, a car passes by, its headlights sweeping across us like a spotlight. The moment breaks, reality rushing back in. I drop my hand and step back, immediately missing the contact.

"Just... just up ahead," she says, gesturing down the street, her voice slightly unsteady.

We resume walking, the easy silence now charged with a different kind of tension. I'm hyperaware of every step, and my mind races with thoughts I shouldn't be having about a woman I barely know.

It started as idle attraction when she caught my eye back in the lineup. But that moment in the first aid tent changed things. Watching her try to hide her pain, still cracking jokes, her fierce determination... something about it lodged under my skin. She stopped being a stranger. And now, I can't seem to stop thinking about her.

This is… not good. I’m just passing through. My life’s waiting for me back in the city; demanding, relentless, full of expectations.

But that's also the problem, isn't it? Part of me doesn't even want to go back. The idea of returning to the cold efficiency of my real life feels partly… hollow. When did that start?

Lost in thought, I barely notice where we’re headed until we slow in front of a familiar red brick building. My insides do a weird little flip of recognition.

"Well, this is me," Elena says, fishing for her keys. "Thanks again for the escort."

I stare at the building, then at her, then back at the building.

"Wait. This is where you live?"

She raises an eyebrow at my obvious confusion. "Yeah, why?"

"Because I'm—" A short laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it. The universe has to be fucking with me at this point. "I'm staying here too. Short-term rental on the third floor."

Her mouth falls open. "You're kidding."

"Apartment 3B," I confirm, still processing this development.

"3A," she says, shaking her head with a disbelieving smile. "Wow," she continues, a little breathless laugh escaping her. "I’ve been meaning to say hello, bring over some cookies or something. But with work at Pierre’s, the festival…"

I nod automatically, but I’m not really listening. She'sunawareof the grenade she just dropped.

My cheeks heat. From embarrassment. Fromknowing. The sounds. That night when I thought some siren was trying to kill me with a song of pure need.

Shewas the one.

My brain tries to reset. Fails.

Because now, I can’t stop picturing her on the other side of that wall.

Oh, fuck.

Literally.

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