Page 196 of Legacy
When I’m done, I dig through the drawer where my things now live.
I’ve been living in his shirts, cloaking myself in his scent, his presence.
But not today.
Today, I choose formyheart.
I pull on a thin black long-sleeved shirt, enough coverage to feel safe, but not hiding. A pair of jeans, just in case he wants to go out again.
Balance, Adriana.
It’s all about balance.
Back in the bathroom, I gather my hair into a sleek ponytail. Severe enough to feel composed. Soft enough to show my face.
No walls.
I step out of the bedroom barefoot, the floor cool and smooth beneath me.
The scent of coffee pulls me forward like a lifeline.
In the living room, the coffee table is set.
Bagels. Oat milk. Two mugs.
A small, thoughtful offering.
But the room is empty.
The balcony door is open, letting in a soft breeze that stirs the air.
Through the glass, I see him.
Standing with his back to me, bare and strong and heartbreakingly familiar.
For a moment, I just watch him.
The weight of all the years between us pressing against my chest.
Before he can acknowledge me, I move.
I close the distance between us, heart hammering, breath shallow.
I slip my arms around his waist, pressing my cheek against the bare expanse of his back.
The first thing I feel is heat radiating off his skin.
The second is texture—the smooth stretch of muscle shifting beneath my cheek, taut with tension.
His scent fills my lungs.
It clings to my skin, seeps into my bones.
He stiffens.
I feel it instantly, the way his whole body goes rigid under my touch.
Like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to hold on or if he’ll scare me off.
