Page 148 of Legacy
We’re going to start over.
***
I hear the knock before I'm ready.
Three soft thuds against the loft door.
My heart stutters. Once. Twice. Then it starts racing like I’m twenty again and about to do something reckless.
I wipe my hands on a towel and move down the steps toward the door, each step heavy with memory.
When I open it, the scent of her hits first; something sweet and familiar, like nostalgia and daydreams stitched together.
Then I see her.
Adriana.
Fuck.
She’s wearing red.
No—wine. Something deep and slinky and sinful that clings to her like it was made to torment me.
My lungs forget what they’re supposed to do.
She’s… breathtaking.
“You look stunning,” I say before I can stop myself. My voice is too soft, too reverent.
Her eyes flicker with something—regret, maybe.
She mumbles a polite “Thanks,” but she won’t meet my gaze.
I swallow the frustration and take the bags from her hands, fingers brushing hers. She flinches.
She's nervous.
I head up the stairs and she follows.
I disappear down the hallway, every muscle tense. I set her things on the bed and take a deep breath before heading back. My palms are sweating. Fucking sweating.
This is fine.
We're starting over. I’ve survived worse.
When I return, she’s standing in the kitchen like a ghost slipped into something divine. Like she doesn’t belong here, and yet… everything around her orients like she’s gravity.
“I was making dinner,” I offer, rubbing my hands together like an idiot. “It’s not done yet but…”
She doesn’t respond.
Her eyes are scanning the room, slow, searching, sharp. She takes in the couch. The walls. The curtains.
Red.
Shit.
She notices.
