Page 113 of Lost Then Found
Which, to be honest, is fucking weird. Itshould’vefelt awkward. Clumsy. Maybe a little sloppy.
But it didn’t.
It felt easy. Too easy.
Like my body never forgot him.
I press my fingers to my temples, trying to get the thought out, but it’s still there—under my skin, in my blood. I remember the catch in my breath when his hand slid beneath my leggings. The way my spine curved into him without hesitation. How my fingers found his hair and tugged, pulling him closer.
Why the hell is he still so good at this?
Good with his hands, his mouth, his tongue. Good at making me forget how much I swore I wouldn’t let him back in. Good at making me feel like nothing had changed when everything had.
It’s infuriating.
I squeeze my eyes shut, like that might erase the feeling, the way my stomach still clenches at the thought of him. I don’t have time for this.Not now. Not when my entire life is on the verge of collapse. Not when I have real, actual problems that don’t involve a man who’s already screwed me over once before.
I can’t let myself go there.
Because the second I do, I start remembering how easy it is to fall into him. How natural it feels to be near him, to become the version of me that didn’t second-guess everything between us. The one who loved him fully, without hesitation. Without fear.
And if I think about that too long, I’ll start thinking about how easy it would be to love him like that again.
I can’t afford that. Not now. Not when the life I’ve built without him is still fragile in places. Still finding its footing.
A knock on the office door jerks me out of my spiraling thoughts. “Yeah?”
The door creaks open, and Dawn steps inside, a plate in one hand and a look on her face that tells me she’s not here to take no for an answer.
“Figured you’d been in here long enough to forget that human beings require food,” she says, setting the plate on my desk with an air of finality. “Eat.”
I glance down. There’s a golden stack of pancakes, crisp bacon, buttery scrambled eggs, a few thick slices of toast slathered in strawberry jam. My stomach clenches, but not from hunger.
“Dawn, you didn’t have to—”
“Yeah, yeah.” She waves me off, putting her hands on her hips. “You work better when you’re not running on fumes. You’re starting to get that look again.”
I blink up at her. “What look?”
“That stubborn, mean little thing you do with your mouth when you’re thinking too hard.” She gestures vaguely at my face, like she’s wiping something off of it. “Like you’re trying to figure out how to dig yourself out of a six-foot hole with a damn soup spoon or something.”
I let out something that isn’t quite a laugh. “That’s…a pretty specific visual.”
She shrugs. “Well, it ain’t wrong. So, are you gonna eat or am I gonna stand here and make sure you do?”
I press my lips together, dragging my fork through the eggs just to appease her. The last thing I want right now is food, but I know she won’t leave until she’s satisfied I’ve at least tried. I scoop a bite into my mouth, chewing it half-heartedly.
Dawn watches me like a mother hen who’s had just about enough of my bullshit.
Satisfied, she nods. “Good. Now, how long are you planning to hide out in here today?”
I sigh, dragging a hand through my hair. “I’m not hiding.”
She lifts a skeptical brow.
“I’m not,” I insist. “I’m working.”
She raises the brow even higher.
