Shirley
There’s a strange ache that comes with confusion—like your heart is being pulled in opposite directions while your head tries to follow neither. That was me. Standing behind the bar, wiping down glass after glass with a rag that had already dried, my mind somewhere else entirely.
Somewhere between Asher’s calm eyes… and Dante’s storm.
Asher was easy in a way that didn’t require decoding. He didn’t hover. Didn’t question everything I did. He listened—actually listened. He talked to me like I mattered, not like I was a ticking bomb ready to explode.
But Dante…
Dante was wildfire and ice. One moment warm and teasing, the next cold and guarded. And no matter how hard I tried, he never really let me in.
Still, I dreamed of him.
Almost every night.
I’d feel his breath on my skin.
