She walked home alone.
Her heart thudded harder with every step, not from fear this time, but from something lighter and more confusing. Malcolm would be there. Of course he would. The thought made her strangely nervous, excited in a way that felt almost inappropriate after everything that had happened.
She shook her head at herself.
Too old for this, she thought. Too tired. Too much grief still clinging to her skin.
She stopped outside the door and took a breath, smoothing her hair with both hands like it mattered, like she wasn't still wearing exhaustion in every line of her body. Then she pushed the door open.
It swung wider than she expected.
She froze.
Malcolm stood a few steps inside, his back half turned as he pulled a shirt over his head, muscles shifting under his skin with the simple motion, his abs briefly exposed, the sharp line of his body catching the low light in a way that felt unfairly vivid after a day like this.
Her mind blanked.
Entirely.
