A faint clink of porcelain stirred Kingsley from sleep.
He blinked groggily, adjusting to the golden slant of morning light spilling through unfamiliar blinds. For a disoriented moment, he didn’t know where he was. The couch beneath him was lumpy. The air smelled faintly of lavender and coffee. And the blanket wrapped around him wasn’t his.
Then he remembered—Katherine. Brooklyn. The long night on her doorstep. The way she’d finally opened the door around 2:30 a.m. and ushered him inside without a word. Her eyes were still guarded. Her voice clipped. Her heart was clearly locked away.
He sat up slowly.
The throw blanket slipped off his shoulders as he turned, his muscles aching from the awkward position. His eyes swept the small space of her apartment. It was warm. Lived-in. But undeni
