LUKE:
I watched Alex slip safety inside the garage before I pulled off and started my day. The city was washed in gray when I pulled onto the main road, the kind of muted morning that sat heavy on the skin. I hadn’t slept. Not really. Maybe two hours tops. My sheets still smelled like her. Vanilla and engine grease and something I couldn’t name but didn’t want to stop breathing.
Alex.
She hadn’t said much when I dropped her off at the garage. Just a quiet “thanks,” followed by a little nod that landed harder than it should’ve. She took the bag of breakfast I bought her, turned on her steel-toed heel, and disappeared inside without looking back.
But the way she’d looked at me in my passenger seat—hair damp, mouth soft, the collar of my tee loose on her shoulder like she belonged in it—h
