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I needed to accept it for what it was.

I finally calmed myself down enough so I could wash my hair and body. Once I did, it made room for the excitement to infiltrate.

I had my own place and I was opening my store.

It didn’t matter if I was afraid. If the old wounds screamed that I’d never make it.

I would do this.

It was time.

It was time to fly.

Floating on the anticipation, I rinsed and stepped out, brushed my teeth then hair. I slathered myself with my favorite apple-scented lotion, then crept out into my room and to my dresser.

I pulled on clean undies and a bra, then I inched over to my small closet that sat to the left of the bathroom door.

An unapologetic grin took to my face as I looked at the cute dresses that Brinley had helped me pick out.

Part of operation Set Elena Free.

That whole plan we’d made that allowed me to finally stretch my wings.

I pulled out my favorite one—a short, cream-colored boho-style dress with ruffled edges.

I slipped it over my head, then I stuffed my feet into matching white sneakers.

Comfy was going to be important today.

Feeling a thousand times more confident, I stepped out of my room and into the main area of my apartment.

I was ready to conquer the day.

Only Trevan was in the kitchen on my left, a giant behind the small island that separated the two spaces, fully dressed and his hair barely damp.

And there went my freaking calm. In an instant, I was a shaking mess.

Espresso eyes roved over me for one elongated beat, and something both foreign and familiar slipped over the surface of my skin.

It was gone before I could define it, and he swiveled to grab something from the counter before he turned back and set a bowl of oatmeal and a cup of coffee down onto the island.

“Eat,” he grunted.

I chewed at my bottom lip. “You didn’t need to do that.”

“You’ve got a big day ahead of you,” he rumbled as I shuffled forward and pulled out a stool.

I settled onto it. The scent of warm apples doused in cinnamon that were piled high atop the oatmeal invaded my senses.

Then he angled around the small island, his mouth close to the shell of my ear as he passed, tingles racing as he murmured, “And I wanted to.”

EIGHT

TREVAN

How many times could a man blunder in less than twenty-four hours? I’d lost fucking count.

Maybe that’s why I seemed to just be giving in to the mistakes.