It was nearly 2 a.m. when I woke up.
The apartment was quiet, except for the soft patter of rain on the windows. The glow from the hallway spilled across the living room carpet like a beckoning whisper. I sat up slowly, disoriented, still tangled in the throw blanket and last night’s guilt.
And then I heard it—low music.
Sinatra. “I’ve Got You Under My Skin.”
I tiptoed toward the sound, heart thudding in my chest. The kitchen lights were dimmed to a soft amber glow, and Cole was standing at the window, shirtless, a wine glass in hand, watching the rain fall like it was telling him secrets.
He didn’t turn around. “Couldn’t sleep either?”
I hesitated in the doorway, clutching the edge of the wall like it might keep me upright. “No. The storm woke me.”
He finally turned his head to loo
