Ava’s POV
Wrapped in a thick towel, warm and slightly dazed from the bath, I let Liam guide me back into the bedroom. His hands never left me for more than a breath—always hovering, always gentle, as if afraid I might crumble.
I didn’t. I wouldn’t.
Not with him looking at me like that.
The hoodie returned over my head—soft and familiar—and he helped me slip into one of his old pajama shorts, tugging the waistband gently like he was marking me with his comfort. When I plopped back onto the edge of the bed, he pressed a kiss to my damp hair.
“Stay,” he said, thumb brushing over my cheek. “I’ll make breakfast.”
“You don’t have to—”
His brows arched before I could finish.
“I want to.”
And he meant it.
I watched him pad out of the room, the hem of his black T-shirt brushing the top o
