Chapter 2
IVY
I’m standing in front of the window, clutching the hem of a sweatshirt that doesn’t belong to me, staring at the empty space where Sebastian’s car sat moments ago.
The house settles around me, quiet and familiar. But my heart still races like I’m standing in the middle of the bar parking lot, gravel under my boots and his hands at my waist.
I inhale, the familiar smell of my house mixing with him.
His sweatshirt hangs off me, heavy and warm, the sleeves too long, the fabric soft from wear.
It smells like clean soap and something darker underneath—woodsy, masculine, grounding.
The kind of scent that makes you feel safe without knowing why.
He never asked for it back. I didn’t think to offer.
That realization sends a flutter through my chest that has no business being there.
I press my lips together, smiling despite myself, before stepping away from the window.
Breathe.
I stare at the wall like it might offer answers.
A hot man I didn’t know stepped in without hesitation. He didn’t ask questions. Didn’t demand gratitude. Didn’t make it about himself.
He just… punched Silas in the nose.
And somehow managed to look terrifying and ridiculously attractive doing it.
Then he gave me his sweatshirt and opened the car door like an actual gentleman.
I groan softly and press the back of my hand against my forehead.
Great. Now I’m ruined.
I kick off my boots and wander through the house, still buzzing from the high of being around him. I catch my reflection in the bathroom mirror—wide eyes, flushed cheeks, his sweatshirt swallowing me whole.
I look ridiculous. And kind of perfect.
I pad into the kitchen, pour myself a glass of water, and try to calm down.
It doesn’t work.
My brain replays everything on a loop.
The way his jaw tightened when Silas touched me.
The way his voice dropped when he said, I wouldn’t have allowed that.
The way his hands were steady when everything else felt like it was slipping.
What I felt tonight wasn’t comfort—it was certainty. The kind that doesn’t ask permission or wait for approval.
Most people want to be soothed.
I’ve always wanted to be claimed.
Which probably says more about me than I should admit.
And somehow, with him, it didn’t feel wrong.
The silence between us in the car wasn’t awkward… just full. Like invisible sparks floating between us. It made me nervous in a way I wasn’t used to. Not in a bad way. Just an I-need-to-keep-talking-and-fill-the-silence kind of nervous so I don’t touch him again just to see if the sparks return.
I lean against the counter and sigh. I should give the sweatshirt back.
I glance down at it again, tugging the fabric closer like it might try to escape.
No use doing that tonight.
For one thing, I don’t know where he lives.
For another, he said it was late. Me tracking him down and knocking on his door at this time of night might seem… weird. Stalkerish.
I’ll give it back tomorrow.
Once I figure out where he lives.
Which shouldn’t be hard. This is Hollow Creek. People sneeze, and the town Facebook group knows about it.
I nod to myself, my decision made.
I take the stairs two at a time and pad down the hallway to my bedroom. The house is quiet, which I normally don’t mind. Tonight, it just feels... lonely.
After removing my jeans, I crawl into bed wearing his sweatshirt and pull the blankets up around me like a cocoon.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. It’s nothing important—just Dad reminding me he won’t be home.
Typical. He’s gone a lot. I don’t know why he thinks I need to be reminded of that. I’m a twenty-five-year-old adult who can fend for herself, so it’s kind of a moot point.
I stayed here because of him. He was a wreck after my mom’s death. Even though he’s gotten back on his feet, part of me fears that leaving might cause him to regress.
Rolling onto my side, I bury my nose in my arm, breathing in Sebastian’s scent. It’s both soothing and exciting.
But sleep doesn’t come easily.
Every time I close my eyes, I see his face. Feel the way my heart skipped a beat when he said my name. Hear the gravel crunch under his boots like a warning bell for bad men everywhere.
Eventually, exhaustion wins, and I finally drift off.
I wake up with the sun streaming through my curtains and a grin already tugging at my lips.
I stretch, roll onto my back—and freeze.
I’m wearing his sweatshirt. The one that still smells like him.
I press my face into the fabric and inhale before I can stop myself.
Okay. That was indulgent. And maybe a little weird.
But also? Totally worth it.
After reluctantly removing the sweatshirt and hanging it carefully on the back of my bedroom chair, I head for the shower. Then I make coffee and sit at the kitchen table with my laptop.
Research time.
I start simple by typing his name into Google. Goosebumps rise on my skin just looking at it.
Sebastian Locke.
I press enter, then analyze the results that come back.
I slap a hand over my mouth when I see it.
He lives on my street.
I click through property records, then Google Maps. My finger hovers as the satellite view loads. I choke on my coffee when I realize he lives three doors down from me.
I’m giddy as I lean back in my chair, laughing softly.
The man who saved me from Silas and made my heart short-circuit is living in my neighborhood.
My gaze drifts to the woods behind my house. The trail cutting through the trees runs right to his property.
Interesting. Very interesting.
I stand, grab his sweatshirt, and hug it to my chest.
It’s a sign from the universe.
Ideas swarm through my head. I’ll return his sweatshirt. I’ll casually pop over and hand it to him.
Not today. I need to smell it some more.
And wash it before returning it.
It’s the polite thing to do.
I get up from the table and move closer to the kitchen window. I stare at the path, just to confirm he’s not out there.
But why would he be?
My eyes glaze over, and a thrill skitters through me as I imagine showing up and giving him his shirt back.
It’s normal to feel this excited about returning it. I mean, the guy saved me from a creep. The polite thing to do would be give him his shirt back.
It’s not stalking. Not at all.
It’s… curiosity.
And gratitude.
And maybe a little fate.
I smile to myself, already planning it out. The route, the timing, the reason for “accidentally” running into Sebastian.
Okay, so maybe… I’m in a little bit of trouble.
The kind I don’t want to be rescued from.