Chapter 62: Lines We Shouldn't Cross

The sun inched through Ethan's curtains too early, its glow spilling over his hardwood floor like gold rivering. He'd slept. Or at least, he'd lain there half-asleep, in a haze, thinking back in circles—Sienna's face, her words, her charred looks and soft caress—her paradox that she was. He thought he'd understood her when, in a snap, she turned the tale upside down.

And yet he still couldn't let her go.

He at last arrived, dragging himself out of bed, and stood before the mirror. His eyes were ringed with red, dark half-circles beneath them like bruises. He splashed cold water on his face and leaned against the sink, his hand locked around the edge so hard that his knuckles were white.

He could not continue like this.

But when she'd shown up on his doorstep, mid-morning and loose as a rag, it was as if all of his plans melted before the mass of her.

"Get coffee?" she asked, standing in the doorway, one of those gigantic shirts she wore every day, one shoulder bare like an error—but E