Freya adjusted her blouse in front of the bathroom mirror, smoothing the fabric over her curves with practiced ease. She hadn't meant to try so hard. Not for anyone. Especially not for Nick.
He wasn't supposed to matter like that.
She stepped into the softly lit kitchen, the smell of coffee lingering, the sound of the clock ticking faintly behind the silence. And then, there he was—Nick—already seated at the kitchen island, legs spread, head slightly tilted, watching her.
He didn't even bother hiding it anymore.
"Morning," Freya said, voice firm, but she saw the way his eyes flicked from her mouth to her chest to the hem of her skirt.
"Morning," he returned, a bit lower, a bit slower. That voice was getting under her skin. Rich, smooth, a little cocky. He used to be awkward around her. Not anymore.
"You staying in today?" she asked casually, grabbing a mug.
Nick smirked, leaning forward just enough that the muscles of his arms flexed under the fitted shirt. "No. Just taking it slow this morning."
Freya poured herself coffee, pretending she didn't notice how his gaze lingered again. She leaned against the counter, one arm across her waist, sipping slowly, deliberately.
"You don't mind me being around here so much?" he asked suddenly. "Not too much of a distraction?"
Her gaze snapped to him. He didn't look apologetic. He looked… curious. Bold.
"That depends," she said after a moment. "You trying to be a distraction?"
He stood slowly, like a stretch of tension coiling into motion. "Not yet."
Her stomach fluttered. Dangerous territory.
He walked closer, brushed past her just slightly too close as he reached for the fridge. She didn't move. Neither did he. For a moment, the space between them narrowed to heat and breath.
"You look good today," he murmured.
She raised an eyebrow, heart thudding. "Watch yourself, Nick."
He didn't apologize. "Been trying."
He was still close enough to touch. And Freya? She wasn't moving away.
They stayed like that, suspended in a charged moment that didn't break easily. Then the front door buzzed—a delivery. The spell cracked, just enough. She moved past him, her shoulder brushing his chest. And neither of them said anything about how neither of them pulled back.