Kimberly
I pushed the door to our bedroom open, careful not to let the old hinges creak too loudly. The room smelled faintly of cedarwood and cigarette smoke, a sharp contrast to the lavender-scented candles I kept lighting in hopes of softening the atmosphere. My heart fluttered with a strange mix of anticipation and dread as my eyes landed on Kendrick.
He was sprawled across the worn leather couch by the window, his lean, muscled chest bare under the soft amber light from the lamp. His skin glowed like bronzed satin, every ridge of muscle a silent reminder of how effortlessly beautiful he was. His long fingers held a cigarette loosely between them, its faint curl of smoke winding lazily toward the ceiling. His laptop balanced on his thighs, its screen illuminating the hard, unreadable
