Riley:
The morning after tasted like stale coffee and restraint.
Neither of us said much as we moved around the hotel room, both pretending the kiss hadn’t happened—even though my lips still tingled, even though my body remembered every second of Cade pinning me against the hot tub wall.
I folded sweaters that didn’t need to be folded. He triple-checked the zipper on his bag. Every slight movement felt loud, echoing with the things we weren’t saying.
The storm had finally broken; sunlight spilled across the drifts of snow outside the window. It should’ve felt like relief. Instead, it pressed in, reminding me that time was running out—that soon, we’d board the jet, return to the real world, and pretend none of this mattered.
I couldn’t stand it.
“Cade,” I said, breaking the silence.
