Ximena
I was still trying to process everything that had unfolded in the past five hours. Now, here I was, sitting at Jacob's dinner table in his home, wearing his clothes, feeling oddly out of place in a space that had once only existed in my fantasies. For the last two months, I couldn't stop thinking about him—dreaming about him, imagining what it would be like to be close to him in ways I hadn't dared to admit.
As I stepped out of his spare shower, a white plush towel wrapped around my body, I felt a sharp breath catch in my chest. The clothes he had left on the bed for me were soft, the fabric somehow carrying the last traces of him. Even after he'd showered, his cologne still lingered in the air, and I couldn’t help but inhale it deeply.
“I know you’re not mute, Ximena.” Jacob c
