Chapter 6
Sayla
L iving with Roque was… interesting.
For one, he was a morning person, which I found both alarming and deeply offensive. He’d wake up before the sun, already dressed, sipping coffee, and somehow functioning like an actual human being while I was still trying to figure out which way was up. Secondly, he had a ridiculous amount of flannel shirts. I was beginning to suspect he had an entire section of his closet dedicated to nothing but plaid. And lastly, living with him meant living with his animals—Lynyrd, Skynyrd, and Dog—all of whom seemed to have collectively decided that I was their new favorite person.
Despite that, I wasn’t hating it, which was probably dangerous.
But I didn’t have time to think about what that meant. The storm hadn’t completely passed yet, but it had eased enough for us to get out of the house. The roads were still covered in snow, ice clung to every surface, and another round of bad weather was forecasted in the next two days. If I had any hope of salvaging my house before the next storm hit, I needed to get a plan in motion now.
Bundled up in more layers than I cared to count, we trudged over to assess the damage.
It wasn’t pretty.
The moment we stepped inside, the cold hit me like a slap. It was somehow colder inside than it was outside, which was never a good sign. Roque headed straight for the kitchen while I stood in the doorway, taking in the disaster zone that was once my home.
“Good news,” Roque called. “The house is still standing.”
I shot him a glare as I peeled off my gloves. “Great. What’s the bad news?”
“The pipes are frozen.”
I groaned, rubbing my hands over my face. “Of course they are.”
“I wrapped them the day after the bath incident,” he added, “but with no heat in here and no way to flush water through them, it didn’t do much.”
I let out a frustrated sigh, staring at the sink like it had personally wronged me. “So what? I have to wait until they decide to defrost?”
“Unless you want to go at them with a hairdryer for the next six hours, yeah.”
I muttered a string of curses under my breath.
Roque leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. “And that’s not even the biggest issue.”
I turned to him, already bracing for bad news. “Oh, good. Can’t wait to hear this.”
He ticked off a list on his fingers. “First, we need to get the plumbing sorted before anything else. Otherwise, you won’t have running water. Second, the flooring in the bathroom needs to be completely redone—probably reinforced. Third, there’s insulation damage from the flooding. Fourth, the wiring might need checking because I don’t trust what happened when the tub came crashing down. Fifth?—”
“Okay, okay, I get it.” I threw up my hands, feeling overwhelmed just listening to him. “It’s going to take forever.”
He gave me a look that wasn’t quite sympathetic but close enough. “The good news is, I know people who can do this work properly, and they won’t charge you a fortune.”
That was good news. The bad news? “I still have to do this slowly because money doesn’t magically appear in my bank account.”
Roque nodded like he’d expected that. “Which means you either move in with your parents…”
I scowled. “Not happening.”
“Or,” he continued, smirking now, “you stay with me.”
I hesitated, chewing on the inside of my cheek. Staying with Roque should have been my last resort, yet I hadn’t minded it as much as I thought I would. Actually, I kind of enjoyed it.
After a moment, I sighed. “Fine. But if you snore again, I’m smothering you with a pillow.”
His grin widened. “Duly noted.”
With that settled, we spent the next hour packing up more of my stuff to take back to his place: clothes, toiletries, and whatever books and essentials I could grab. Roque walked past as I stuffed a duffel bag, holding up a scarf.
“You sure you want to wear this back to the house?” he asked.
I glanced up. “Yeah, why?”
He smirked. “Because it’s currently covered in dog slobber.”
I sighed. “Of course it is.”
He chuckled, tossing it onto the pile before picking up one of my bags and heading for the door. I followed him, pausing only once to glance back at my house, ruined bathroom, frozen pipes, and all the work waiting for me.
Yeah. I wasn’t moving back in anytime soon.
And honestly?
I wasn’t all that mad about it.
I pulled the scarf from between his fingers and wrapped it around my neck as I turned to face the door where my bags were waiting. I could cope with some dog drool for another five minutes. It beat freezing to death outside. But just as I went to walk forward to pick up some bags, the thick fabric slipped from my shoulders, drifting to the ground before I could catch it.
“Ah—” I bent down to grab it, moving too quickly, too carelessly?—
And backed right into Roque.
A sharp inhale. A low, barely restrained groan.
My breath hitched. Heat shot through me as I realized exactly where I’d pressed against him.
Oh, hell.
I went rigid, my fingers clenching around the scarf as I straightened far too quickly, my heart hammering. But it was too late, the damage was done.
And worse, my mind betrayed me.
It reminded me of all the things I liked about him—the things I tried not to think about. The deep, smooth timbre of his voice that always sent a shiver down my spine. The roughness of his hands, the strength in his arms. The way he moved, all confidence and power, like nothing could shake him.
The way he looked at me sometimes, like he saw through every damn wall I put up.
I swallowed hard, forcing my breath to steady, shoving those thoughts down where they belonged. It didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t.
But when I finally dared to glance up at Roque, his jaw was tight, his eyes dark and unreadable. And for one stupid, reckless second, I thought maybe—just maybe—I wasn’t the only one struggling with this.
Lying in bed, I stared up at the ceiling, my mind restless despite the quiet around me. The room was dim, the soft glow from the streetlights outside casting long shadows against the walls. Roque’s steady breathing filled the space, a slow, rhythmic sound that should’ve been comforting.
But it wasn’t because tonight had felt normal. Too normal.
We’d made dinner together, moving through the kitchen like we’d been doing it forever: Roque chopping vegetables, me stirring the sauce, our bodies brushing in the small space between the counter and stove. It was easy, thoughtless, like second nature.
Afterward, we let the dogs out and played with them in the yard. I laughed when they nearly bowled me over, landing in the grass with a breathless huff. Roque had just shaken his head, pretending to be unimpressed, but I caught the smirk he tried to hide when I scooped up the cat and set him in my lap later.
We’d sat on the couch, watching a movie, his body stretched out next to mine. My legs curled beneath me, my fingers buried in the cat’s fur. His warmth was close, so close, but not quite touching.
It felt domesticated in a way I hadn’t expected. Comfortable. Easy. And that scared the hell out of me. Because I had drawers in his dresser now, as well as closet space, and now it felt like I lived here.
I turned onto my side, my fingers curling into the sheets, my chest tightening with something I couldn’t quite name. Roque wasn’t supposed to be like this. He wasn’t supposed to let me in—not like this, not in ways that felt too deep, too real. And yet, every time I woke up in his bed, it felt more and more like I belonged here.
I exhaled slowly, trying to push the thought away. But my mind had already wandered somewhere else—somewhere I hated going.
Yesterday. The shower.
Heat crept up my neck as the memory rushed back, vivid and unavoidable. The steam curling around me, the sharp sound of my breath catching when I turned and found him standing there. His gaze dragging over my bare skin, dark and unreadable.
I knew that look. Had seen it plenty of times before. But this time, it had felt different. More intense. More restrained, like he was fighting something.
And then—God, the embarrassment. Me, standing there, clutching that stupid, translucent shower curtain like it could actually do something. The way his lips had parted, the slight clench of his jaw before he’d spun on his heel and left without a word.
I squeezed my eyes shut now, trying to shake it off. But the real problem wasn’t the way he’d looked at me. It wasn’t the heat in his gaze or how my stomach had twisted at the sight.
It wasn’t just how he looked at me or how I felt when I was around him—it was something worse. My old neighbor.
I’d seen Roque going into her house a few times now, and even though I told myself it didn’t matter, that it shouldn’t matter, it did. It cut deeper than I wanted to admit, a quiet ache I couldn’t ignore. But the worst part wasn’t just seeing it happen—it was how he looked at me afterward, like he knew I saw, like he wasn’t even trying to hide it, like he was waiting for me to say something.
I swallowed hard, my throat tightening as I lay there, staring into the darkness, my chest aching with something sharp and unfamiliar. Should I ask? Did I even want to know the answer?
Before I could spiral any further, Roque shifted beside me, his arm tightening around my waist, pulling me back against him without even waking. I froze, my pulse jumping as his slow, steady breathing filled the quiet space between us. His warmth seeped into me, grounding me, making it impossible to ignore how natural this felt.
Before, he’d never held me like this. Before, it had only ever been sex—something raw, physical, and over as soon as it ended. But now, wrapped up in him like this, it felt different, like something was shifting between us in a way I didn’t understand.
And I had no idea what to do with that.