The second I stepped back into Rosa’s apartment, I realized just how small everything felt.
The couch was still there. Still lumpy. Still pressed against that same crooked bookshelf that smelled like cinnamon and old wood glue. The throw blanket lay folded neatly at the edge, like it had been waiting for me.
And Rosa was standing in the kitchen, one socked foot tapping nervously on the tile as the microwave beeped behind her.
She turned the second the door clicked shut.
“Jesus, B,” she whispered, eyes scanning me like I was a wounded animal. “Are you okay? Where the hell did you go? You scared the absolute s**t out of me.”
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Then shrugged out of the blazer Damian had wrapped around my shoulders.
“I fainted.”
“You what?”
“Collapsed,” I corrected. “In his
