The night was colder than Andrea expected. A sharp wind swept across the estate’s manicured lawns, tugging at the hem of her sweater. She folded her arms against her chest, regretting that she hadn’t grabbed a jacket. The cicadas had gone quiet, replaced by the rhythmic rush of the ocean beyond the tree line.
Michael stood a few feet away, his hands shoved into his pockets, gaze tilted up toward the night sky. The moonlight cut across his profile, sharp jaw shadowed, lips drawn into something unreadable.
Andrea tried not to notice how tall he looked in the dark. Or how his shirt stretched across his shoulders. Or how she could still smell cedar and rain on his skin from when he’d brushed past her earlier.
“Not what I pictured,” she said finally, her voice breaking the stillness.
He gla
