Kenna
Evander shuts the door. The lock clicks, and for a moment, the only sound I can hear is my heartbeat racing in my own ears.
He looks… conflicted. Unsure–and unsteady.
“You–you smell like vanilla candles,” I whisper, unsure if I say the words out loud or only in my head.
But he looks at me, holding my gaze. “I do?” he asks quietly, his voice taking on a tone I’m not accustomed to. It’s softer than before, less on edge.
I nod, finding it impossible to swallow past the lump forming in my throat.
“Why?” I ask, because it’s the only word frantically bouncing around my skull.
“Why do I smell like the vanilla candles you like so much?” He takes a step toward me, then another, but there’s still an incredible amount of distance between us.
“Yeah, why?”
Evander’s jaw clenches,
