ISLA'S POV
The coffee cup appears on my desk at exactly 7:00 AM, like magic.
Except it's not magic. It's Rowan Blackwood, standing in the doorway of the construction trailer with that infuriating half-smile that makes my traitorous heart skip.
"Cream, no sugar," he says. "Just how you like it."
I stare at the cup like it might explode. "How do you even remember that?"
"I remember everything about you, Isla." His voice is quiet, serious. "Even the things I should have noticed five years ago but was too much of an idiot to see."
I want to throw the coffee at him. I want to drink it. I want to stop feeling this confusing mess of emotions every time he's near me.
Instead, I take the cup. "Thank you."
His smile widens like I just gave him a prize.
"Don't get used to it," I mutter, but I'm already taking a sip. It's perfect. Of course it is.
