RIDE OR CRY
The morning light was different after that night. Softer. Warmer. Like the world had shifted on its axis and everything was new.
Maya stood in the kitchen of Knox's small apartment above the shop, watching him cook breakfast. He moved with an easy grace that surprised her—flipping eggs, toasting bread, pouring coffee with the practiced efficiency of a man who'd been taking care of himself for a long time. The muscles in his back moved beneath the thin fabric of his t-shirt, and she couldn't stop staring.
"You're staring," he said, not turning around.
"I'm admiring."
"Same thing."
"Different intentions." She smiled, wrapping her arms around him from behind. Her cheek pressed against his back, and she could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "Thank you."
"For what?"
