Phoebe's POV
Harold finally spoke up, cutting through the thick silence. "Work kept me longer than expected. My apologies."
I brushed off his concern with a casual gesture. "Don't sweat it. I wasn't exactly struggling here."
God, with a physique like that, if we knew each other better, I'd definitely want to trace those defined abs and discover what a real eight-pack feels like...
The awkward moment passed quickly as we both pulled ourselves together.
Once his hair was towel-dried, Harold settled into the armchair facing me and offered me a glass of milk.
"Thank you," I said, reaching for it.
Our fingertips connected. His heated skin against my cooler touch. Though it lasted barely a heartbeat, the contact ignited something fierce in both of us.
Something flickered in Harold's expression, but he mastered his features like a true professional.
