Dean didn’t bring flowers.
He didn’t bring rehearsed apologies or promises he wasn’t sure he could keep. He didn’t bring security, or a driver, or any of the reminders of the worlds we lived in, worlds that somehow never belonged together.
He showed up alone.
I was halfway through washing dishes at the diner when Sophie nudged me sharply in the ribs.
“Angel,” she hissed.
I looked up, annoyed, ready to snap at her, but then I saw him.
Dean Knight stood just inside the doorway, tall and unmistakable, his presence silencing the room without a word. No suit, no polished billionaire armor. Just a dark shirt, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly disheveled as if he’d run his hands through it too many times already.
He looked… tired.
Our eyes met. And suddenly, the air felt too thin, like som
