A Man Built of Storms
By the time Adrian left the bakery, the wind had strengthened to a restless, cutting force that whipped down the narrow street. The salt-tinged breeze curled around the edges of his coat and tugged at the collar like impatient fingers. Above the waterfront, a gray veil of clouds drifted low and heavy, thickening with the promise of rain. The air smelled of brine and distant thunder—sharp, cold, biting.
The bite of it pleased him.
Anything was better than the suffocating heat inside that small bakery—a heat that had nothing to do with ovens and everything to do with Emilia Hart. Her nearness. Her quiet. Her refusal to look him in the eye for more than a heartbeat. He could still feel the ghost of her presence clinging to him like a fever he hadn’t chosen and couldn’
