I avoided the kitchen that evening. I stayed in my room with the door shut, answering emails and trying to focus on anything except the way Stellan had looked at me this morning. Bare chest. Sweatpants low on his hips. That knowing smirk.

Around nine, my stomach growled loud enough to annoy me. I needed food. I crept out in my tank top and soft shorts, hoping he was already in his room.

He wasn’t.

Stellan sat at the island with a glass of whiskey, scrolling through his phone. The lights were low. He wore the same gray sweatpants from earlier. No shirt again. The sight of his shoulders and...