Dashiell arrived at exactly 2 PM.

Liora heard the knock and felt her heart try to escape her chest. She’d been preparing all morning—showering, changing outfits three times, rehearsing what she’d say.

None of it helped.

She opened the door.

He looked terrible. And beautiful.

Thinner. Exhausted. Shadows under his steel-grey eyes. But still devastatingly handsome in dark jeans and a black sweater. His hair was slightly longer, unruly in a way that made her fingers itch to touch it.

“Liora.” His voice was rough. Like he’d been screaming. Or not speaking enough.

“Dashiell.”

They stared at each other. The air between them felt electric. Dangerous.

“Can I—” he gestured...