Chapter 2 How about we try again tomorrow? Together?

Cassian’s POV

One week. How was I supposed to survive one entire week of this?

When Isabella called, her voice full of worry, asking me to stay and watch over Saraphina, a part of me knew I should have made an excuse. Anything. But the other part, the part that had grown reckless and weak, leaped at the chance. The truth was, I couldn't have said no even if I’d tried.

Now, standing alone in Isabella’s bedroom, I was paying for that weakness. My body felt charged from Saraphina’s presence. She wasn’t the little girl I’d helped with homework anymore. She was a woman, and every laugh, every knowing glance, every deliberate move was a test of my control.

My feelings for her had crossed a line. What used to be simple, protective care had become a deep, persistent ache, a need that lived under my skin. She was my best friend’s daughter. Forbidden. But all I could see was the memory of her in that little white shirt, her legs bare, her smile daring me to look.

I needed to get a grip. I grabbed my bag and headed for the shower, desperate for a clear head.

But her bathroom was a fresh kind of torture. The whole room smelled like her, that soft, sweet perfume that was uniquely Saraphina. It clung to the air, wrapping around me. Her lotions, her hairbrush, a stray ribbon on the counter… they were all quiet, intimate details of her life, and they pulled at me.

I stepped under the spray, letting the hot water beat against my shoulders, begging it to wash away the images in my mind. But it was no use. Her face was there behind my closed eyelids. The sound of her laugh played in my head. The more I tried to push her out, the more the wanting grew, a dangerous, thrilling current under my skin. It was so wrong, and yet the thought of her made my blood feel alive.

By the time I got out and dressed, I was worse off than before. My mind, a mess of conflict. I headed downstairs, hoping some distraction would help.

The smell of smoke hit me first.

I walked into the kitchen and saw her. Saraphina was bent over, trying to pull a baking sheet from the oven. The sight of her, the delicate line of her back, the gentle curve of her waist, stopped me dead. My breath caught.

She turned suddenly, and my chest clenched. Her eyes were glassy with tears, tracks of them shining on her cheeks. Her lower lip quivered as she clutched a potholder, her whole face flushed with frustration.

“Saraphina,” I said, my voice low. I moved toward her without thinking. “What’s going on?”

She shook her head, trying to wipe the tears away and force a smile, but a small, broken sound escaped her instead. That little sob tore right through me. The urge to pull her into my arms was so powerful it was a physical pain. But even that small comfort felt like a step over a cliff I could never come back from.

The first night, and she was already breaking down every wall I had.

“Hey, talk to me,” I said, my voice softer than I intended. I reached for her, and she came without hesitation, folding into my arms. Her small body shook against my chest, and I moved my hand in slow circles on her back, a gesture meant to soothe her that was setting my every nerve on fire.

“What’s all this about?” I asked, gently tilting her chin up until her eyes met mine. Those deep brown eyes were still swimming, though the tears had stopped. She took a shaky breath.

“I wrecked our dinner.” Her voice was so small, so defeated. I caught a stray tear with my thumb, my skin tingling where it touched her cheek.

“It’s okay,” I told her. “We can get a pizza.”

She was still trembling, her warmth bleeding through the thin cotton of my shirt and straight into my bones. She bit down on her full lower lip, and my heart kicked against my ribs. “I just wanted to make something special for you,” she said, her words trembling.

“That’s what this is about?” I couldn’t stop the faint smile that touched my lips. The fact that she’d gone to so much trouble for me sent a warm rush through my chest, even as it tangled with the guilt. If she knew the kind of thoughts I was really having, she’d run from the room.

“Saraphina,” I murmured, tucking a loose strand of golden hair behind her ear. My fingers lingered for a moment too long. “One burnt dinner doesn’t mean a thing. I’m just happy you wanted to do this for me. How about we try again tomorrow? Together?”

The small, hopeful smile she gave me then was a direct shot to my heart. She nodded.

“Good,” I said, smiling back. “I’ll handle dinner tonight. I’m not sure that baking sheet will ever be the same.” I winked, and was rewarded with a soft, genuine laugh from her. When she stepped out of my embrace, the space where she’d been felt suddenly cold and empty.

The tears were gone, but a beautiful pink blush stained her cheeks, and her eyes were still bright and liquid. The sight of her like that, so open and vulnerable, did something dangerous to me.

With a light, happy sound, she said, “Great! I’ll pick a movie for us!” Then she was gone, darting out of the kitchen and leaving me alone with the pounding of my own heart, trying to piece my control back together.