ISABELLA
The smell of pancakes drifted through the room. Warm, buttery, sweet — the kind of smell that made you forget, for a moment, that your life was a chaotic mess and you’d woken up in someone else’s shirt with absolutely no memory of how you got there.
I blinked slowly, adjusting to the soft morning light. Adrian was already sitting at the small table by the window, sleeves rolled up, hair still slightly messy from sleep. He looked… annoyingly good. Like he’d stepped out of a magazine titled Men Who Ruin Your Emotional Stability.
“Breakfast is here,” he said without looking up, as if he could sense I was awake.
I pushed myself up, clutching the blanket around me. “I can see that.”
He finally glanced over, and the corner of his mouth lifted. “Relax. I’m not looking.”
“You litera
