The heat outside was unbearable, and wearing all black hadn’t done you any favors. Sweat clung to your skin, and your head pounded from barely drinking water all day.

By the time you reached your apartment, it was 3 p.m., and all you wanted was a cold drink and maybe some quick lunch before collapsing on the couch.

But then—you froze.

Your door was slightly open.

Your heart thudded, anxiety spiking, and you carefully nudged it open, your breath held—

Only to stop in surprise.

Cal was there. In your kitchen.

“Did I scare you?” he asked casually, glancing at you over his shoulder as he stirred something on the stove. The smell hit you—garlic, herbs, something warm and comforting.

And then your eyes dropped to his arm, his massive bicep flexing under the weight of the pan. Veiny, tattooed, perfectly lit by the soft afternoon light streaming in through your window.