Talia sat by the window of Ethan's penthouse, the early morning light spilling through the glass, casting golden halos around the twins who lay curled beside her in their portable crib. Her sketchpad rested on her lap, but for once, her pencil was still.
She wasn't just tired, she was emotionally tangled.
The sex last night still lingered on her lips. It wasn't just sex. It was everything she was trying not to feel.
She looked over her shoulder when she heard footsteps. Ethan. In grey sweatpants and a fitted black shirt, freshly showered, coffee in hand, looking like a million-dollar distraction.
"Morning," he said, voice low and soft, as if trying not to disturb the babies.
She gave a small nod. "Morning."
He hesitated, then walked over and handed her the coffee. Their fingers brushed, and she hated the way it sent warmth up her arm.
"You didn't sleep," he said, noticing the dark circles under her eyes.
"Designing. Thinking," she replied simply.
"About?"
