The sun was still low when Cassia stepped out of the car, two worn leather bags in hand.
She didn’t knock. She didn’t wait. She opened the door to Dorian’s cottage and walked in like she had every right to be there.
Because today, she did.
Dorian was already in the kitchen, barefoot, making coffee. He didn’t turn around at first. Just said, “You brought more books than clothes, didn’t you?”
Cassia dropped her bags by the doorway. “Of course I did.”
He finally turned, raising an eyebrow. “Planning to live in paperbacks?”
She smirked. “They never let me down.”
He watched her walk across the room, braid falling over one shoulder, a soft black sweater slipping down one arm. She stopped in front of the bookshelf near the fireplace.
“This shelf’s mine now,” she said.
“Was that a questio
