Page 84 of Stolen Harmony
I nodded, not trusting my voice to work properly. The apartment smelled like him, warm and clean with an underlying scent that was purely masculine.
Rowan handed me a can of cat food without explanation. “Feed Roxie while I shower? She's been giving me attitude all morning.”
The domestic request was so normal, so ordinary, that it took me a moment to process. But then Roxie appeared, winding around my legs with the particular brand of feline desperation that meant she'd been waiting for this moment all day.
I crouched down, scratching behind Roxie's ears while she purred loud enough to vibrate through my fingers. Max pushed his way in for attention, tail thumping against the wall with the enthusiasm of a dog who'd found his favorite person in an interesting new place.
“Hey, boy,” I murmured, running my hand over his golden fur. “What do you think of this place?”
Max's tail thumped harder, and he pressed his nose against my palm before turning his attention to Roxie. The cat, surprisingly, didn't flee. Instead, she wound around Max's legs with the casual acceptance that suggested they'd already worked out their friendship during previous visits.
“Look at that,” I said, watching Max gently nose at Roxie while she rubbed against his chest. “Even the animals are getting along better than the humans.”
Dogs were better judges of character than most people, and the fact that Max was completely relaxed here, that he'd accepted both Roxie and this space so completely, said something important about the man currently showering twenty feet away.
Roxie dove into her food with the intensity of a cat who'd been personally offended by having to wait this long for dinner. She was getting bolder, more comfortable, no longer the terrified stray Rowan had nearly run over on his motorcycle. The transformation said something about the man currently showering twenty feet away, about his capacity for care even when he was barely holding himself together.
The sound of running water from the bathroom made me hyperaware of where Rowan was, what he was doing, how little distance separated us. I forced myself to focus on the animals, on the simple task of opening the can and dividing the food between Roxie's bowl and Max's, but my mind kept drifting to the image of water running over skin I'd seen too much of already.
When Rowan emerged from the bathroom, he was wearing worn jeans and a black t-shirt that clung to his shoulders in ways that made my mouth go dry. His hair was still damp,darker than usual, and he ran a hand through it with unconscious sensuality.
“You want to take Max for a walk?” he asked, grabbing a jacket from the back of a chair. “I need to get out of here for a while.”
I understood the feeling. The apartment suddenly felt too small, too charged with tension that had nowhere to go. “Where did you have in mind?”
“There's a trail in the woods behind town. Leads to a waterfall. Good place to think.”
The forest trail was quiet except for the steady sound of Max's paws on the dirt path and the occasional rustle of leaves overhead. The air smelled of moss and cold stone, earth that was slowly warming with the promise of spring. Ancient trees stretched above us, their branches creating a canopy that filtered the afternoon light into patterns that shifted and changed with every step.
Rowan walked beside me in silence, hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, his breath puffing out in small clouds that matched our steps. Out here, away from his apartment, he looked lighter, like the open air gave him more space to breathe—until I opened my mouth.
“Victor was leaving your building when I got there.”
His step hitched, barely. “Yeah,” he said after a beat, voice too casual. “I know.”
I glanced at him. “He’s dangerous, Rowan. You don’t want him around you.”
Rowan gave a small laugh, sharp and humorless. “Trust me, I figured that out.”
“What did he want?”
“Conversation,” Rowan said quickly. “Drinks. Nothing important.”
I slowed a little, watching him. The line came too fast, like he’d rehearsed it. His shoulders were tense again, and he kept his eyes fixed on the path ahead.
“That’s all?” I pressed.
He nodded, but didn’t look at me. “That’s all.”
I could tell there was more, something he wasn’t saying, but I let it go before I said something I couldn’t take back.
Rowan led us down a narrower path, barely wide enough for single file, where the sound of rushing water began to filter through the trees. It started as a whisper, barely audible over the sound of our footsteps, then grew louder and more insistent until it filled the air entirely, drowning out everything else.
We stepped into a clearing where a thin waterfall spilled over dark rocks into a pool that looked deep enough to swim in. The water was crystal clear, so transparent I could see smooth stones resting at the bottom, and mist rose from where the falls met the surface, catching the filtered sunlight and throwing fleeting rainbows that vanished almost as soon as I noticed them.
Rowan slowed, shoulders dropping as he took it in. For the first time all day, something easy settled into the space between us—like the sound of the water was rinsing off some of the tension we’d carried in from the world outside.
“Mom and I used to come here,” he said, voice softer than it had been all day, nearly lost under the hush of falling water. “I was sixteen, angry at the world, sitting on that rock over there feeling sorry for myself.”
