Jennifer’s POV
Sleep wouldn’t come.
I lay curled on my side, staring at the shadows shifting across the ceiling as the storm outside roared and quieted, roared and quieted, in endless cycles. The house creaked in protest against the wind, and rain battered the windows hard enough that it sounded like gravel. But it wasn’t the storm that kept me awake.
It was him.
I had laughed earlier, laughed until my sides hurt at the sight of him dripping water onto the floor, his dark hair plastered to his forehead, his voice clipped and exasperated as he announced, “Your shower’s broken.” It had felt so ridiculous, so strangely normal for a man like him—brooding, guarded, all sharp edges—to be reduced to that.
But the laughter had faded hours ago, and what lingered instead was the memory of his
