Their Favorite Toy

h. It was just shy of being rundown, a modest two-story with chipped paint and weathered shutters. Somehow, that made it more

nce the 70s, a creaky wooden table, a fireplace that seemed to promise warmth if I cou

uld learn to

into one of the kitchen chairs and watc

s. "So, does it fit your hi

's perfect, actually.

. "Or until the tabloids find you an

most believing it myself. "This place..

sm over the line, his habit of weighing every risk in h

ply. "I just need space. Quiet. You k

d, voice softening. "Look, Ev

h that sentence. "I'll be fine. Just make

gue. "You got it. Just..

d, leaving me alo

•

you thought, right when you were hoping for solitude. B

tle note, slipped under my door that morn

ext door at 7.

ld ignore it, act like I never saw it, but curiosity's always been my fatal fl

, my hair left loose, and slip outside into the cool evening air. Their place is only a few steps away-an

in a moody indie film. Lean, dark-haired, with a devil-may-care smirk that seems permanently etched onto his f

und is warm, with a hint of

, doing my best n

ut the sound of it. "Well, Evelyn, come i

use smells like something rich and spicy, a mix of leather and cloves. The lights are low,

en, back turned as he stirs something on the stove. He's taller than Rhys, broader, wit

past me to gesture towards

unreadable. His gaze is sharp, lingering just long e

ing not to let my voice waver

at longer than necessary. There's a smoldering silence that s

r guest," he says, the corners of his mouth t

ich is surprisingly soft. "Is this what you two

l across from me. "Not strangers-neighbors. And be

did,

. "You've been here a few days and you'r

"I'm perceptive. Beside

that feels both comfortable and electric, like they've known each other long enough

ts of rosemary and thyme, crusty bread that looks homemade. They're not exactly the kind of

atch Rhys watching me every now and then, his gaze a mix of curiosity and something sharper. Adrian, on the other hand, keeps his

ning back in his chair, his gaze fixed o

g a piece of bread with my for

s, unphased. "

with a dark, unreadable gaze.

's something about him, a quiet intensity that makes me w

e," he says, his voice low and s

re doing?" I ask,

mouth pulling into a

able, my interest piqued. "So, what is it? Som

h the tension. "Not quite. Think of us

warning. There's something in his eyes, a flicker of s

tensity with my own. "Well, pri

face, but he says nothing. Rhys just smirks, leaning back

iting, about what brought me to this town, all with a charm that's disarming. Adrian, o

mly lit living room. He pours a dark amber liquid into thre

ew neighbors," I echo, taking a sip. The drink burns as it goes dow

ch, his arm stretched out behind me, his fingers brushing against my shoulder in a way that feels delibera

silence, his voice a low mur

his arm, the warmth of his ga

whisper. There's a vulnerability there, a crack in the armor, a

a slow, lazy pattern on my should

pulse quicken. I glance at Adrian, catching a fl

istance between myself and whatever is simmering beneath the surface here. But another part of me-maybe

m the kitchen. I can't make out the words, but

d, curiosity getting the better of me. I press myself

here," Adrian's voice, cold and

s, a hint of irritation in his tone. "Don

then there's reckless.

weight of his words settling over me l

I'd felt earlier vanishing like smoke. I feel like an intrude