Kimberly
The gazebo stood at the far end of the manicured garden, its iron frame draped with climbing roses that seemed almost surreal in their delicate beauty.
I approached it slowly, my heart hammering against my ribs. Every step I took felt heavier than the last, as though my body was trying to resist what my mind had already accepted: I couldn’t avoid Kendrick’s summons.
He sat in the center of the gazebo, his tall frame lounged casually against the wrought iron bench. His shirt was slightly unbuttoned, revealing the tanned skin of his chest, and in his hand, he held one of his favorite cigarettes. Smoke curled lazily around him, adding to the image of effortless authority that he carried like a second skin.
For a moment, I stopped walking, struck by the sight of him. There was no
