When I return to Dr. Hale’s walk-in closet, it’s even more stuffed with clothing than I remember. I have a lot of clothes—I’m not going to lie—but her clothes are classy. Everything she wears is at the height of fashion. And not just that—she doesn’t own anything casual. I looked through some of her drawers last night and it seemed like the lady didn’t even own a pair of blue jeans.

I would wager that there isn’t one piece of clothing in this closet that cost less than two hundred dollars.

I had intended to find something in the back of her closet that she rarely wore. But my attention goes back to that white cashmere sweater I had been slobbering over last night. I love cashmere. I mean, everyone does. What sort of freak doesn’t like cashmere?

And the sweater is so white. Like unblemished snow.

I grab the sweater and pull it off the hanger. I throw it over my head, almost groaning in ecstasy at how nice the fabric feels against my skin. I love cashmere.

Okay, I didn’t do exactly what I said I was going to do. But it’s almost a crime for a sweater like this to be sitting in a closet, never worn. It’s begging to be worn. Crying to be worn.

And it’s not like Adrienne Hale is going to come back here and want to wear the sweater, for God’s sake.

Chapter 28

ADRIENNE

Before

I watch Luke expertly chopping vegetables on my kitchen counter. I might be hopeless in the kitchen, but he’s an excellent cook. We still get takeout plenty, but he likes to cook for me on the nights he’s here. Which is becoming more and more frequent.

Luke and I have been dating for four months. It’s a record for me. After a month of dating, my anxiety abated to the point where I finally consented to let him spend the night. And now he’s here three or four nights a week.

There are ground rules of course. He has to stay on his side of the bed—no cuddling in the middle of the night. And if I’m not feeling in the mood to have company, he has to leave without argument. The first month, that happened as often as not. But I haven’t asked him to leave in weeks.

The truth is, I’m growing to enjoy sharing a bed with him. On the nights he’s at his own apartment, I look at the empty spot on what has now become his side of the bed (the left), and I feel an ache in my chest.

“It smells delicious,” I comment.