The apartment felt too small, even for a shared space. Daisy traced the rim of her lukewarm coffee mug, staring out the kitchen window at the gray cityscape. It was a far cry from the sun-drenched beaches of her past life, a life she was trying to rebuild, brick by excruciating brick.
She’d told herself she had it handled. She’d told herself she was *fine*. But the truth was a gnawing, persistent ache that had taken root the moment she’d accidentally sent the nude.
To Liam.
Liam, as in, *Liam*, her brother Finn’s best friend since kindergarten. The stoic, impenetrable wall of a man who now lived six feet away, separated by a paper-thin wall and a mountain of awkward silence.
Her phone vibrated on the counter. A text from Finn: *“You seeing anyone?”*
Daisy swallowed hard. “No,” she typed back, a lie that tasted like ash in her mouth.
She’d been avoiding Liam for two weeks, strategically timing her trips to the grocery store, feigning late nights at the library. But avoidance felt… pathetic. It felt like admitting defeat.
The worst part wasn’t the accidental send. It was the read receipt. The single, cold confirmation that he’d seen it. And then… nothing. No reply. No judgment. Just radio silence.
She’d spent hours dissecting the image in her mind, replaying the moment she’d taken it – a playful, carefree selfie meant for a different recipient. Her finger hovered over the delete button, but she hadn’t. She hadn’t wanted to erase the evidence of her own stupidity.
“That was ages ago, how do you still remember that?” Liam’s voice startled her, pulling her back to the present. He stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, arms crossed over his chest.
Daisy jumped, nearly spilling her coffee. “What?”
“The thing you said about the painting,” he clarified, his voice a low rumble. “At the gallery opening. About how it made your senses come to a standstill.”
She blinked, trying to recall the conversation. It had been a blur of champagne and polite chatter. “Oh. Right.”
“I remember you saying it made you feel like you’d lost yourself in it.”
A flush crept up Daisy’s neck. “I… I was trying to be poetic.”
Liam’s gaze didn’t waver. His eyes were a startling shade of gray, flecked with silver. She’d always found it difficult to meet his gaze. It felt… invasive.
“You didn’t need to be poetic,” he said softly. “It was a beautiful description. I remember thinking… if I could paint, I’d want to capture that feeling.”
Daisy’s breath caught in her throat. “You paint?”
He shook his head, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “I wish I could. I can’t draw, or sculpt, or anything like that. But I can see things… in detail. I remember walking back into my room that evening and cursing my hands for not being able to draw.” He paused, his gaze intense. “If I had snapped a photo of you back then, you probably would have thought I was an odd one, so I didn't. But god, I wish I had. I remember walking back into my room that evening and cursing my hands for not being able to draw. If I ever learn how to, which I will, that memory will be the first thing my pencil will mimic on paper.”
The words hung in the air, thick with unspoken tension. Daisy stared at him, her heart hammering against her ribs. This wasn’t the cold, distant Liam she’d been trying to avoid. This was… something else. Something unsettlingly, beautifully, *different*.