My body isn’t reaching for one. It’s reaching forallof them.
The realisation lands slowly and devastates me more than the bet did.
This isn’t just semi-bond recoil or rejection from Sol. It’s attachmentto all of themtearing at the seams.
I sink onto the sofa and press my fingers to my temples, breathing shallowly as another wave rolls through me – restlessness, awareness, an almost nauseating emptiness where something warm had begun to build.
My phone buzzes once on the coffee table.
A message from my boss.
Don’t come back in yet. I’ve covered your shifts. Tips are being set aside for you.
I stare at the screen. That’s not normal. I didn’t ask for that. I didn’t tell him anything. Which means someone is keeping him in the loop.
Why is everyone in this place sonice?
My throat tightens.
An hour later the doorbell rings.
The sound makes my pulse spike violently. For half a second I consider ignoring it. Then instinct pushes me upright.
When I open the door, no one is there.
Just a box. Brown paper. Carefully taped. No note.
My hands tremble slightly as I carry it inside and set it on the dining table. The tape is neat. Deliberate. Not rushed.
I open it slowly.
Inside, each item is folded with care. Not stuffed. Not chaotic. Intentional.
The first thing I lift is a flannel shirt. Koa. Sea salt and warm sand greet me first – sunlit and familiar – followed by the soft linger of campfire smoke. Beneath it, rich and unmistakable, is his unique tonka bean scent that I love. Smooth. Grounding. Indulgent in a way that settles low in my lungs.
The ache in my chest eases fractionally.
I swallow hard.
Next is a hoodie. Kai. The same sunlit salt and smoke base, but brighter. Livelier. And underneath it that unmistakable deep chocolatey seductiveness teasing the air with something that’s impossible to ignore.
My pulse quickens. Not painfully. Just alive.
Beneath that lies a simple grey t-shirt. Finn. Ocean rain. Cool and clean, like standing on a shoreline just after a storm. Smoked green tea – light, earthy, refined. And beneath it burnt caramel warmth that wraps around the sharper notes without overpowering them.
My throat tightens.
The balance in it hits differently. It doesn’t spark. It doesn’t anchor. It steadies.
At the bottom of the box is a dark button-down. Sol. Smoked oud, deep and primal, threads immediately through my senses. Salted driftwood, rugged and storm-worn. And beneath it, almost hidden but undeniably there, toasted marshmallow warmth – soft against the darker edges. Danger wrapped in comfort.
Together they smell like summer and my favourite things about it.
My knees weaken.
I lower myself into the chair and press the fabric to my face without thinking.
The effect is immediate. Not dramatic. But measurable. The restless ache dulls. The prickle under my skin eases. My breathing steadies in slow increments. It isn’t complete. But it’s enough to confirm what I didn’t want to admit.