OLIVIA
His voice was low, and also almost careless but every word sank into my chest. He sipped his wine as if we were discussing something random that didn’t matter.
“You don’t like loud people,” he continued. “You flinch at shouting, even when it has nothing to do with you.”
He wasn’t wrong. Loud voices always crawled under my skin and made me uncomfortable. Even laughter, if it came too loud or too sudden, made my shoulders tense before I could stop myself.
My gaze dropped instantly, his stare pressing into my skin. My fingers curled into the fabric of my robe, twisting by my side.
“You bite your bottom lip when you’re about to say something you’ll regret,” he added. “You like the rain, not for the smell or the sound, but because it reminds you of summers at your grandmother’s ho
