"I wouldn't hate it," he murmurs, voice dropping to that dangerous register that seems to vibrate directly against my skin. His cocky grin spreads slowly, deliberately, revealing perfect teeth and the hint of a dimple I haven’t seen in a long time. The look in his eyes is equal parts playful and hungry, as if he's imagining exactly what he'd see if the door between us disappeared.

What the hell is happening right now?

Heat floods my cheeks and cascades downward, warming places I refuse to acknowledge. I accept the towels with trembling fingers, our skin brushing again in a contact that feels anything but accidental. His thumb traces the lightest circle on my wrist before releasing me.

"Enjoy your shower, Nora," he says, my name on his lips sounding like something sinful, something sacred.

I close the door quickly, perhaps too quickly, leaning against it as steam from the running shower swirls around me. My heart hammers against my ribs—a chaotic rhythm that has nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with that deeper, more primal sensation I've been trying desperately to ignore since the day we met.

The bathroom mirror has begun to fog, but not before I catch a glimpse of my reflection—flushed cheeks, dilated pupils, lips slightly parted. I barely recognize myself, this woman undone by a few words and meaningful glances.

I step into the shower, letting hot water cascade over me, but it does nothing to cool the burning awareness that has taken root beneath my skin. His voice echoes in my mind: I wouldn't hate it.

Four simple words that have somehow rewritten everything between us.

The shower was exactly what I needed, but I'm still not sure what to make of the whole Nate situation. I thought I was confused before our little morning run in. But now, my mind feels like a mess of tangled wires, each thought connected to him. Every time I try to pull away, I get shocked.

I need air.

Fresh, un-Nate-filled air.

Lydia and Mom decide to head out for errands soon after, and I jump at the chance to join them. Lydia has a million things to do for the gala she's chairing, and it's the perfect opportunity to bury my thoughts in something that doesn't involve a broody, dark-haired guy who makes wearing a low-slung towel look like it deserves to be on a billboard.

The annual Eden Charity gala commands attention as one of the town's most prestigious events. As kids, we'd stay home with Dad while Mom supported her best friend. Now, with this year marking the twentieth anniversary, Lydia's been planning for months to make it the biggest yet. The event raises money for community housing and local projects—proof that beneath Lydia's polished exterior beats a heart of gold. She's not just about the glitz and glamor; she genuinely cares about making a difference. As we browse high-end stores, Lydia's enthusiasm bubbles over.