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If he hadn’t been so ridiculously handsome, the disheveled look might’ve passed for someone delivering late-night takeout.

“I brought you food,” he said simply, and before she could speak, he stepped right past her and into the house.

Krystal blinked, mouth parted. “What...?” she muttered, spinning around to follow him. “Lorenzo? What are you doing here?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he walked straight to the dining table and carefully placed the lunchbox down, like it was something precious.

In her haste to catch up, Krystal’s foot slipped on the smooth floor. Her socks gave way, and she let out a sharp gasp. “Ah!”

Lorenzo turned instantly.

The moment he saw her on the floor, he rushed to her instantly. Dropping to a crouch, he reached for her with both hands, his brows furrowed in panic.

“Are you okay? Where does it hurt?” His voice dropped, laced with worry as his eyes scanned her quickly, hands careful as he helped her up.

“I asked—what are you—” she began, flustered.

But before she could finish, he scooped her up in his arms in one swift, effortless motion.

“Lorenzo!” she squealed, both hands flying to his shoulders for balance. Her heart skipped. The sudden closeness, the heat of his body—it knocked the breath out of her chest.

He carried her across the room like she weighed nothing, then gently set her down on the edge of the table, right beside the lunchbox. Her legs dangled above the floor, her hands still braced against him out of reflex.

She stared up at him, stunned.

He took a step back, resting one hand on the belt loop of his pants, and used the other to gesture grandly at the container. His expression was proud, almost boyish.

“I made this. For you.”

Krystal opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

From down the hall, Darren came stumbling out of his bedroom, shirtless and squinting against the living room lights. “Who the hell is in this house now?” he groaned. “I was trying to get a few minutes of sleep!”

Lorenzo’s head snapped toward him. The finger he’d just pointed at the lunchbox now shifted to Darren.

“What the hell isthatdoing here in the middle of the night?” he snapped. “And why is it shirtless?”

Krystal folded her arms, irritation flickering across her face. “That’s rich, coming from the man who just barged into my house like he owns it. It’s almost midnight, Lorenzo!”

Lorenzo’s jaw ticked. His eyes shifted from Darren to Krystal.

“I came to give you—”

But he didn’t finish.

The front door suddenly burst open again, slamming against the wall.

Startled, Darren stumbled backward and slammed into the doorframe with a loud “Ow—what the—”

The crash made Krystal flinch. She jumped off the table instinctively, her legs unsteady—and straight into Lorenzo’s arms. He caught her instantly, pulling her tight against him, one arm around her back and the other protectively over her head.

He shielded her without thinking.

Both their eyes whipped to the door.

Xander stood there, panting, holding a massive bouquet of flowers that looked like it belonged in a wedding photoshoot.

“Mr. Moretti!” he gasped breathlessly. “You forgot the flowers for Mrs. Moretti!”