“Am I not allowed to park here?”

“Parking here isn’t the issue. You don’t have anywhere to go?”

She shakes her head. “But I’m fine here. It’s warm. Maggie loaned me a blanket, so it’ll be fine.”

I try to open the door, but it’s locked. “Come with me.”

“Where?”

“Inside. You can sleep in my flat until you get your feet under you.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary. I don’t want to impose. You’ve already done so much for me—”

“Izzy. I’m not going to let you sleep out here in your car when I have space for you upstairs. Now, get your things and come with me.”

She blows out a breath, then does as I ask. She locks her car behind her as she follows me into the bar and up the steps to the flat above.

“Wait, you’re not a serial killer, right?”

“Now’s not the smartest time to remember to ask me that.”

“But, for real, though.”

“No, I’m not going to hurt you. Come on.”

I open the door, relieved that I took an extra twenty minutes this morning to straighten things up.

“It’s not big, but it’s home.”

There’s a tiny kitchenette off the living room. I show her the master—and only—bedroom, then lead her to the bathroom.

“I have all the essentials in here. I’ll set out a new toothbrush and razor for you.”

“Wow, thank you so much, Keegan.”

And just like it was all night, it’s like a punch to the fucking gut when she says my name.

“You’re welcome. I’ll change the sheets on the bed for you.”

“I’m definitely not taking your bed. I can sleep just fine on the couch.”

“My ma would have my hide if she knew I let you sleep on the sofa.” I smile at her and turn to the linen closet for fresh sheets. Less than ten minutes later, my bedroom belongs to Izzy, and I have a blanket and a pillow waiting for me in the living room. “Just let me know if you need anything.”

I walk into the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea and hear Izzy walking into the bathroom. The shower starts. I lean on the countertop, my head hanging, chin touching my chest.

The sexiest woman I’ve ever seen in my life is naked in my shower, about to sleep in my flat, and she’s totally off-limits.

She’s only hours from running out of her wedding.

And she works for me.

But, damn it, something about her pulls at me.

The water turns off, and I can picture her drying herself with a fluffy, white towel. The bathroom door opens. She shuts off the light and shuffles back to the bedroom, wearing a pair of Maggie’s sweats and an old college T-shirt.