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Marley

D inner was a mistake. All I could see was us naked and free to do anything we wanted to each other. How many times did I walk up to him and run my hands up his chest and kiss him until he would groan and pull me to him? We always ended up making love anywhere and everywhere.

A beautiful, candlelit, slow-cooked mistake served with a side of smug matchmaking from Lark and Axel, who were way too pleased with themselves for someone who just “happened” to invite me and Frasier to their porch at the same time.

“Oh wow,” I said as Axel handed me a plate. “Lasagna. So casual. So romantic. ”

Lark blinked innocently. “We just had extra.”

Frasier sat across from me, arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes doing that irritating thing where they watched me like I was a suspicious noise in the dark.

I stabbed my fork into the lasagna like it owed me money.

Axel cleared his throat. “So, Frasier, Marley tells me you two met before.”

“Briefly,” I said quickly.

Frasier didn’t even blink. “Three nights in Tunisia. It was supposed to be one night, but neither one of us could leave.”

I choked on a piece of bread.

“ Three nights?! ” Axel repeated, way too loud.

I elbowed Lark under the table. She elbowed me back. Harder.

Frasier leaned back in his chair, the picture of calm. “It was a hot night to begin with, and it got hotter and hotter, so we stayed inside where it was cool. Good food. Great company. And then she ghosted me.”

“I didn’t ghost you. I strategically vanished. There’s a difference. It was a no-name time.

“You took my shirt,” he added casually.

“I was cold!”

“You took my favorite shirt.”

Axel was nearly in tears laughing.

Lark smiled sweetly. “I think it’s romantic.”

“You know what I think?” I said, slamming my glass down. “I think I’m going to eat this lasagna, say thank you, and then go back to my cabin where people don’t look at me like I’m a summer fling that ran off with their wardrobe.”

Frasier raised one brow. “I didn’t say it was just a fling.”

I stood up so fast the chair nearly tipped.

Dinner = disaster.

Later That Night

I couldn’t sleep. Because of the lasagna. The candles. The tension. And the fact that I still owned the stupid shirt. And there was no way in hell he was getting it back.

I found it buried in my bag—black, soft, and worn-in. I might have worn it a dozen times since Tunisia. I might have kept it on purpose.

Don’t read into it.

I went outside to cool off. That’s when I saw him.

Frasier.

Standing in the dark, holding a lantern, checking the tires on my SUV. He looked around first, like he was trying not to get caught. Then he crouched, unscrewed the valve cap, and started topping off the air in the low back tire.

What. The. Hell.

“Hey!” I whispered, stomping down the gravel.

He jumped, bumping his head on the wheel well. “Ow! What are you doing sneaking up on people like a woodland ninja?”

“What are you doing, Fix-It Felix?”

He grumbled and stood up, brushing dust off his hands. “Your tire was low. You’re welcome.”

“Did I ask for help?”

“No. But I didn’t feel like watching you get stranded in town and calling me to come rescue you.”

“I wouldn’t call you.”

“You would.”

“I’d rather call a raccoon.”

He stepped close, that frustrating smirk tugging at his mouth again. “You’re angry because I fixed your tire?”

“No, I’m angry because you’re confusing.”

He leaned in just a bit, voice low. “You think I’m confusing?”

And suddenly, I was back in Tunisia.

FLASHBACK — Tunisia, ten months ago.

The heat was suffocating. The kind that clung to your skin and made every movement feel like a dance through molasses. But the rooftop bar was breezy, and the drinks were cold.

He’d asked my name.

I gave him a fake one.

He didn’t flinch.

He bought me a drink. I bought him a challenge.

The banter turned into touches. The touches turned into his hands in my hair, my back pressed against the hotel door, and my breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a moan.

We didn’t even make it to the bed the first time.

He had me naked in the blink of an eye. I was undressing him as fast as he undressed me.

He picked me up and lowered me onto his stiff cock as it entered me, I may have screamed out my orgasms I had so many I lost my mind. That was just the first night.

First we did it against the wall. Then on the floor. A mess of limbs and heat and whispered curses in the dark.

He kissed like he meant it.

Held me like I wasn’t temporary.

And during the night and the next morning… we started all over again. It continued until he received a call while he was talking.

I left.

Because I was temporary, and I always left first. But I didn’t want to go.

Now he was staring at me in the dark, five feet away, holding a damn tire gauge like it was a wedding ring.

And I was shaking.

Because I had no idea what to do with a man who fixed tires, ate lasagna with my sister, and looked at me like I was the one who disappeared—not the other way around. Okay, I am the one who left. Because I knew he was going to.

I crossed my arms. “Next time you want to fix something of mine… ask.”

“Next time you want to run, don’t.”

Then he turned and walked away.

And I stood there.

In his shirt. Damn I forgot I had his shirt on.

Wondering if I was already halfway to staying.