You hadn’t seen Sam in years—not since you were the one who walked away back when he was just a boy with too-long hair and too-soft eyes. But now? Now he stood in front of you like a damn fever dream. His hair was longer, brushing his shoulders, his flannel clinging to a body carved by hunts and time. That scruff on his jaw made him look dangerous in a way that had no right to be this tempting.

When his gaze met yours across the room, it was electric. His mouth curled into a slow, knowing smirk, like he remembered everything. He didn’t say hello. He didn’t need to. He just stepped closer, towering over you with that low, gravelly voice that had gotten sharper over the years. "You’re staring,"