Page 146 of Flint’s Strike

I turn to the dresser and open the top drawer. I’ve never been particularly fashionable. Got two brands of dress shirts I can wear—fewer seams, soft fabric, a variety of colors. Same with my t-shirts. The only exception is the pile of Engine Company 12 shirts I never wear. Too many memories.

But I won’t throw them away either. Same reason. Too many memories.

I scoop them up and move to the closet. There’s enough space on the top shelf for them. Out of the way, but still around. I can deal with that. And who knows? Maybe Parker will want them back in the drawer so she can wear them.

The thought doesn’t bother me. Seeing her in something that matters? I think it heals a tiny part of me every damn time.

But she deserves so much more than a drawer.

I rearrange the closet too. Half a dozen shirts need to go. Too many seams, too rough. I’ve ripped two pairs of pants this week crawling through the worst spaces I’ve ever seen to make sure no one’s gonna die, so those hangers are free too.

By the time I’m done, it’s after six. But I’ve cleared a dozen hangers for her.

I take three photos—one of the drawer, one of the closet, and one of the bathroom counter, where I pull out a new toothbrush still in the wrapper and set it in the holder next to mine.

Made room for you.

A few minutes later, while I’m waiting for the water in the shower to warm, the phone vibrates on the bathroom counter.

Want company?

Want you.

Half an hour.

Parker stands at the door, a small duffel bag slung over her shoulder. Her hair’s still damp, curling in soft waves, and shadows haunt her eyes. But that damn smile… It does something to me I can’t explain.

“Hey. I…uh…brought a few things.”

I tug her close, one hand around her wrist, the other cupping the back of her neck, and seal my mouth to hers.

Fuck. She tastes like mint and sunshine. Everything I’ve never let myself want is suddenly right in front of me. Warm and soft and strong. Smart and beautiful and funny as hell.

I don’t know why she wants me. I’m too scared to ask. But she’s seen the worst parts of me and she’s still here.

“Come on in,” I say against her lips. “I’ve got a drawer with your name on it.”

Parker laughs, and some of the weight lifts from her shoulders. “If you own a label maker, we need to have a serious talk.”

“No labels.” Linking our fingers, I guide her toward the bedroom. “Just room.”

It takes her three seconds to notice the change. “Eliot, why exactly was your apartment a mess the other day?”

“My neighbor left a note…”

She looks at the panels, then back at me. “A note? About…?”

I shove my hands into the pockets of my basketball shorts. “Apparently the walls are a little thin, and you’re…enthusiastic.”

“Enthusiastic?” Her brow furrows for a moment, and then her cheeks turn bright red. “Oh my God. He…heard us? Heard…me?”

“These are the best rated panels on the market. I like you enthusiastic, Parker. Don’t change. Ever.”

I collapse against Parker, my arms shaking. “That was…”

“If I thought I could move,” she says, “I’d go knock on your neighbor’s door and see if those panels worked.”

“That would require clothes. And standing up.”