Reagan stood in the open-plan kitchen below, now dressed casually in a gray Nike shirt and black sweatpants. The sleeves stretched across his arms, the fabric clinging to his defined muscles. His hair was slightly tousled, and he seemed incredibly relaxed. He looked effortlessly put together—undeniably handsome, actually.
He turned at the sound of her footsteps. The moment he saw her, he swiftly crossed the distance between them in a few quick strides.
“You’re awake,” he said, his voice low and gentle. His green eyes scanning her face with quiet concern. “How are you feeling?”
Lara hesitated, embarrassed all over again. “I’m... I’m fine now,” she said, offering a sheepish smile. “Thank you, Reagan. For taking care of me. And for bringing me here.” She rubbed her arm awkwardly. “I’m sorr
