Page 125 of Every Shattered Note
When the doors open, the penthouse takes my breath away.Warm light spills across sleek floors.Floor-to-ceiling windows reveal the skyline unfurling like a dream—the Space Needle glowing in the distance, ferries tracing soft lines across Elliott Bay.The world below feels far away, muffled and small.
“This isn’t a friend’s place,” I murmur, stepping inside.“This is an architectural masterpiece.”
“Same thing,” he says, his voice low, a grin ghosting across his lips as he unlocks the front door.“Come on.”
Inside, it smells faintly of cedar and clean linen.The Pacific hums below, endless, alive.
I toe off my shoes at the entrance while Dexter tosses his keys on the marble counter with an ease that betrays familiarity.
“You want something to drink?”he asks, opening the stainless-steel fridge.“There’s water, juice, or ginger ale.”
“Water’s good,” I say, setting my purse on the sofa.
He pours two glasses, condensation forming instantly against his fingers.When he passes one to me, our hands brush.The touch barely lasts a second, but it lingers like a thought I shouldn’t have.
He drops down beside me on the couch.The cushion shifts under his weight, pulling us closer than I expect.His thigh brushes mine—warm, solid, real.
“Thank you,” I say quietly.“For today.For everything you did.”
He shakes his head, eyes fixed on the skyline.“You don’t have to thank me.”
“I do.”I turn toward him, my voice barely above a whisper.“You didn’t just help.You fixed things I didn’t even know how to ask for.”
“I didn’t fix them,” he says softly.“You did.I just made a few phone calls.”
“Don’t downplay it.”My throat tightens.“You saved the day.”
He lets out a breath that sounds like a laugh but isn’t.Tilts his head back against the couch, eyes closed.“Then we’re even.”
“Even?”
“You saved me first.”
The words hang there—fragile, electric.
Before I can respond, he opens his eyes and looks at me.Really looks.The distance between us collapses like it was never meant to exist.
He reaches for me, and I don’t stop him.His hand slides to the back of my neck, fingers threading through my hair, and then, his mouth finds mine.
It’s not gentle.It’s desperate.A kiss that feels like catching your breath after almost drowning.
He pulls me closer until I’m pressed against him, my pulse tripping against his chest.The city blurs behind us, lights streaking through glass as his hand slides down my back.
“Dex—” I start, but he swallows the word with another kiss—rougher this time, real.
It’s been so long since the last time we kissed, but right now it feels like we never stopped.Like all those weeks were just the space between one breath and the next.Like we’ve been orbiting this moment, waiting for the courage to collide.
His forehead rests against mine, both of us breathing hard, his thumb brushing my jaw like he’s memorizing the shape of me all over again.
“What about our first date?”I whisper, the words trembling against his mouth.
He smiles, small and dangerous.“Tomorrow,” he murmurs, voice rough with everything he’s holding back.“Tomorrow I’ll be a perfect gentleman.”
His fingers trail down my neck, over my pulse, and I swear the room tilts.
“But tonight,” he breathes, brushing a kiss against the corner of my mouth, then another, deeper, hungrier, “I need you, Aly.”
Another kiss—slow, lingering, reverent, and sinful all at once.
