The Project || 18+ [ON HOLD]

6.

Dawn's tentative fingers creep across the room, but I keep my eyes closed, cocooned in the fragility of the morning. The sheets are a wasteland of tangled limbs and whispered secrets. I'm half-afraid that if I look, I'll find Killian still here, an embodiment of last night's surrender. I can't bear the thought, not when shame is a sour taste in my mouth, bitter as old coffee.

I'm not here to get to know people. I'm here for work.

With a deep breath, I finally open my eyes, bracing for the possibility that he might still be here. The world blurs into focus. The other side of the bed is cold, empty. My heart, traitorously, sinks even as relief washes over me. I sit up, letting the air breathe me back to life, trying to shake off the remnants of a night that should have been nothing more than a fantasy.

What was I thinking, bringing a stranger home? Killian now feels less like a stranger and more like... what, exactly? I'm not even sure.

What happened with Killian is a one-time thing. This town may be small, but the chances of me running into him again are slim. Right? I'll just avoid the bar to avoid any chance of seeing him again. Yet, even as I make this vow, flashes from last night send a warm flush across my skin.

Standing up, I'm uncomfortably aware of the stickiness on my thighs, a physical reminder of Killian that makes my cheeks burn. A shower is necessary, an attempt to wash away not just the physical remnants but also the memories that cling just as stubbornly.

In the shower, I let the hot water cascade over me, almost scalding in its intensity. I welcome the sting, hoping it will erase the feel of hands that seemed to know every inch of me, of lips that whispered words that felt so right. Part of me yearns to feel that touch again, to hear those words, but the rational part of me knows it's better if I don't. I'm not in Willow Creek forever. I will only be here a few months at the most.

I dress mechanically, pulling on my overalls like armor.

Hunger rumbles through me, a visceral reminder of the parfait from the diner I've been looking forward to. Sweet strawberries, tangy yogurt—something to replace the taste of Killian on my tongue.

Outside, the world is waking up slowly, the air fresh but humid. My gaze falls on the empty spot where my truck should be, and reality hits – it's still at the bar. We took Killian's truck here. I curse under my breath, scrolling through my phone for a solution. No Ubers. No taxis. Willow Creek isn't the kind of place that's caught up to city conveniences.

I'm supposed to meet the landscaping company at ten. If I start walking now, I can make it. I can still turn this day around.

But the universe has a sense of humor, it seems. No sooner do I hit the sidewalk than the clouds burst open, rain pelting down in a relentless torrent.

Could my day get any worse?

My body aches with each step, a dull reminder of last night. Muscles I hadn't known existed now throb with a rhythmic pain, mirroring the staccato of raindrops against the pavement. It's as if every inch of my skin holds a memory of Killian's touch, making it hard to walk away—literally. There's a sharp pain in my shoulder when I stretch. I wonder if that's where Killian bit me.