He felt it.

Being near her had stirred something deep inside him.

The scent of wildflowers and jasmine still lingered in his nostrils. He could still feel her frail hand beneath his, delicate as porcelain. She'd worn a wig today, dressed in something longer, just as he'd asked. But it didn’t matter. She’d been curled up on his couch all night, her presence seeping into every inch of his home. He could still smell her.

She’d invaded his space like a ghost he hadn’t asked for, haunting every corner.

And still, he’d lied today. Told her she’d left something behind, just to see her again. Just because he’d overheard that...