Grayson
I’d slept maybe three hours.
The rest of the night, I'd spent awake staring at the ceiling, every shadow a reminder of her face.
The second Elena Whitmore walked back into my life, every calm, control, and discipline I'd built over the years came crashing down.
By dawn, I gave up pretending I could get any sleep. The house suddenly felt too big, too quiet, every little sound amplified.
I walked to the kitchen and made coffee. My laptop opened on the counter. I stared blankly at the screen. The event checklist glared back at me: vendors, servers, seating, and floral arrangements, but none of them registered.
All that kept replaying in my head was her hand in mine. The warmth, the slight tremor, how naturally they fit in mine. The words we couldn't say hung thick in the air.
