Phoenix:
The bed was cold when I reached out.
Not freezing. Not abandoned. Just… empty in that unmistakable Ryder-way. The kind of quiet that meant he’d been up early, probably hours before the rest of the world, chasing some plan he didn’t want to tell me about until it was finished.
I blinked against the morning light and rolled over, groaning softly as my body stretched into the space he usually filled. My arm landed across his side of the bed and I breathed in what lingered—soap, motor oil, and his skin. Home.
The buzz of my phone pulled me from the warmth, screen lighting up on the nightstand.
Ryder:
Working right now. Dinner tonight. Don’t wear jeans.
I love you.
I stared at the message, reading it again. And again.
Don’t wear jeans.
My gut did a slow flip.
I pushed up ont
