Rebekkah's POV.
The scent of expensive coffee and toasted sourdough should have felt like home, but it felt like a thick, heavy cloud pressing down on my lungs. I sat at the long mahogany table, my back stiff, staring at the silver spoon resting against my porcelain bowl. I hadn't taken a single bite of the yogurt and honey Michael had set in front of me.
Every time I moved, I felt a faint, dull ache in my hips. It was a constant, pulsing reminder of the loft. A reminder of Derek’s hands and the way he’d looked at me in the dark.
I felt dirty. Not the kind of dirty that a hot shower could fix, though I’d spent forty minutes under the water this morning trying to scrub the memory away. It was a deep, soul-level stain. I looked at Michael, who was sitting across from me in a crisp blue s
