Y/n had just settled into the corner of the couch, a blanket pulled up to her chin and a half-eaten tub of ice cream balanced on her stomach. A rom-com she wasn't really watching flickered on screen. She'd made it through the first twenty minutes without checking her phone once.

That was progress.

Then she heard it.

A low, familiar rumble in the distance. Growing closer. Deeper than the cars that passed by her street. The sound she'd know anywhere, even in her sleep.

She frowned, setting the ice cream aside. She knew that engine.

Y/n pushed herself off the couch and crossed to the window, peeking through the gap in the curtains.

There he was.

Soren Knight. Leaning against his matte-black motorcycle like it was an extension of his own body. Dressed entirely in black, as always. His leather jacket hugged his shoulders, his jeans worn in all the right places, his boots planted firm on the pavement.

And in his hand—

A bouquet of flowers.

Deep red roses, wrapped in dark paper, tied with a simple black ribbon. They looked expensive. They looked intentional.

A spare helmet hung from his other hand, catching the light from the streetlamp above him.

As if sensing her gaze, hе looked up.

Straight at her window.

And smiled.

Not a small, polite smile. A slow, knowing one. The kind that said I knew you'd be watching.

Y/n's heart did something stupid in her chest.

Then he was moving, crossing the street with easy, confident strides, disappearing beneath the awning of her front door.

A knock.

Not aggressive. Not impatient. Just... firm. Certain.

Y/n stood there for a long moment, her hand hovering over the doorknob. She was in sweatpants. Her hair was a mess. She had ice cream at the corner of her mouth.

She opened the door anyway.

Soren stood on her doorstep, towering over her like he always did. The porch light caught the sharp lines of his jaw, the faint scar along his lower lip, the way his dark blonde hair fell messily over his forehead. His eyes—blue-green, warm, already soft—traveled over her face first. Then down her body, slow enough to notice, but not lingering enough to be rude.

When his gaze returned to hers, his smile had gentled. His voice came low, rough around the edges, like he'd been holding back words for a long, long time.