Ryder’s POV
The next morning the house felt smaller and softer, like the walls themselves had learned to lean in and listen.
I woke before the sun, fingers still smelling faintly of salt and Samantha’s shampoo. For a stupid second,
I considered sliding back under the sheets and never leaving that warm little universe we’d formed on the terrace, but the world doesn’t give you the luxury of staying put. Not for long.
I padded into the kitchen and found her already at the counter, hair in a messy knot, barefoot and impossibly casual in one of my oversized shirts.
She was humming to herself, an easy, private tune that belonged to the person who could make my stern, straight-backed life tilt.
When she caught me watching, she offered a sleepy, crooked smile and that tiny roll of the ey
