But now she was gone, and he was alone. She represented change—intimidating, yes, but also intoxicating in its potential. A lock of wet hair clung to her cheek, and Larry’s hand twitched with the unexpected urge to brush it away, to feel the slickness against his fingertips. “Something’s not right,” she whispered, her adventurous spirit igniting within her. The clutter dissipated, revealing the bones of the house that once thrummed with life and laughter. In that moment, she made a silent vow—to celebrate life, and to never take a single moment for granted. She waited, her every sense heightened, for the slightest indication that he might emerge from the fog that enveloped him. Her movements were methodical, almost ritualistic, as she stripped away her own barriers. Her shorts were next—unbuttoned and unzipped with a fluid motion, then tugged down over the curve of her hips.
