Taking a shower with one hand is a special kind of torture. I never realized how much I relied on two hands to do something as simple as wash my hair until now. The hot water beats down on me, and I try to maneuver the bottle of shampoo with my good hand, but it's a losing battle. My hair feels like a tangled mess, and the awkwardness of it all makes me mutter a string of curses under my breath. This isn't exactly how I imagined starting my day.

At least it's not broken, I remind myself, trying to focus on the silver lining. The fracture will heal on its own, and I'll be back to normal in no time. But that doesn't make it any less frustrating right now. I awkwardly rinse out the shampoo, trying to work the suds out of my hair as best as I can with just one hand. Every move reminds me of how much I took the little things for granted—like being able to use both hands to do something as basic as this.

Once I'm out of the shower and wrapped in a towel, I grab my phone off the bathroom counter and shoot a text to Emersyn, letting her know how the rest of my night went. I don't mention almost hooking up with Declan, though. Some things are better kept to myself, at least for now. Plus, I can already hear her voice in my head, teasing me about it. Emersyn loves a good romance, especially when it involves someone she cares about.

I scroll through my messages, smiling when I see the texts from Declan. He's checked in on me a few times this morning, asking how I'm feeling and whether we're still on for our date tonight. He was sweet about it, saying he'd totally understand if I wasn't up for it and we could reschedule. But I'm not about to let a bruised hand ruin my plans. I told him I was still game, but maybe we should keep it simple.

Declan offered to cook for me at his place, and I agreed. There's something intimate about being in someone's home, and the idea of him cooking for me is undeniably sexy. It feels more personal than going out, like we're taking another step forward in whatever this is between us.

I text Emersyn a quick goodbye, knowing she'll demand all the details later, and focus on getting ready. With my hand out of commission, it takes twice as long as usual to do everything, but I manage. I pull on a soft, fitted blouse that's easy to slip into and a cute skirt. I opt for flats instead of heels—less chance of me tripping over something with my luck lately. A quick brush of mascara and a swipe of lip balm, and I'm good to go.

By the time I'm heading out the door, I feel a mix of excitement and nerves fluttering in my stomach. It's been a while since I've been on a date that wasn't just dinner and awkward conversation. But with Declan, things already feel different. He's got this easy confidence about him that puts me at ease, and yet there's something about him that keeps me on my toes, too.

When I pull into the parking lot of Declan's apartment building, I spot him waiting at the front door. He's dressed casually in a navy blue shirt that clings to his broad shoulders, and he's wearing that easy smile of his that I'm starting to look forward to seeing. As I step out of the car, he meets me halfway, his gaze warm and welcoming.

"Hey," he says, his voice low and smooth. "How's the hand?"

"It's surviving," I reply, lifting it slightly as if to prove my point. "But I'm definitely going to be milking this for all it's worth."

He chuckles, holding the door open for me as we head inside. "I'll make sure to take good care of you."

The smell of something delicious hits me the moment we step into his apartment. My stomach growls in response, and I realize I haven't eaten much today. Declan must notice, because he grins and gestures toward the kitchen.

"Make yourself at home," he says. "Dinner will be ready in about two minutes."

I kick off my shoes at the door, feeling oddly comfortable in his space already. His apartment is cozy, with warm tones and personal touches that tell me a lot about him. I wander over to the living room, taking in the framed photos on the wall—some of him with friends, a few family shots. There's one of him in uniform, looking all serious and official, but there's also a picture of him with a goofy grin, surrounded by what looks like a group of old friends.

A guitar leans against the wall in the corner, and I smile, imagining him playing it. There's a mix of ruggedness and softness to Declan, a balance that I'm finding more and more attractive. Despite living in the city, he has this small-town charm about him, like he's the kind of guy who'd fix your car and then cook you dinner.

"Dinner's ready," Declan calls out from the kitchen, and I turn to see him setting the table. There's a small vase of roses in the center, the red petals standing out against the white tablecloth.

I walk over to the table, my eyes on the roses. Declan catches me looking and smiles. "Those are for you. Thought you might like them."

I blush, feeling a warmth spread through me. "I've never had a guy buy me flowers before."

His smile widens, and there's a softness in his gaze that makes my breath hitch. "Well, if you like them, I'll buy you flowers every day. Just say the word."

God, he's too much. My heart feels like it's doing somersaults in my chest. How did I get so lucky? I manage to murmur a thank you, feeling a little overwhelmed by the gesture, but in the best possible way.

As we sit down to eat, I can't help but steal glances at him, taking in the way he moves, the easy confidence in everything he does. There's something undeniably attractive about him, and it's not just his looks—though those are certainly a bonus. It's the way he carries himself, the way he seems so at ease with who he is. And there's that kindness, too, the way he's been taking care of me, checking in on me like it's the most natural thing in the world.

After dinner, we settle on the couch to watch a movie. Declan hands me the remote, telling me I get to pick, and I scroll through the options until I land on a scary movie. He raises an eyebrow at my choice, but there's a playful glint in his eyes that tells me he's game.

As the movie starts, I feel a little thrill of anticipation. The lights are dim, the room cozy, and there's a certain intimacy in the air that wasn't there before. I take a deep breath, summoning my courage, and slowly snuggle into Declan's side. For a moment, I worry that I've overstepped, but then his arm wraps around me, pulling me in closer. The warmth of his body against mine is comforting, and I can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathes.

I relax into him, letting myself enjoy the moment. There's something so right about this, about being here with him, that it makes my heart swell. The movie is tense, full of jump scares and suspense, but I barely notice. My focus is entirely on Declan, on the way his hand gently squeezes my shoulder, the way he seems so solid, so sure.

Then a particularly scary part of the movie catches me off guard, and I jump, instinctively gripping Declan's arm. He laughs, the sound warm and genuine, and I can't help but laugh with him, even as I feel my cheeks heat up with embarrassment.

"You okay there?" he teases, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Just fine," I mutter, though I'm still clinging to his arm like a lifeline.

He grins, and before I can say anything else, he's leaning in, his lips capturing mine in a kiss that's both tender and hungry. The movie fades into the background as I lose myself in the sensation of his mouth on mine, the warmth of his body pressing against me.

I kiss him back with everything I have, my fingers tangling in his hair as the kiss deepens. The heat between us is undeniable, and I can feel the tension building, the need for more growing with every second. I shift closer, my heart racing, and his hands move to my waist, pulling me onto his lap.

But just as things are getting hot and heavy, Declan pulls back, his breath ragged. "We don't have to rush this," he murmurs, his forehead resting against mine. "I'm fine with just being here with you."

I know he means it, that he's not just saying it to be polite. There's a sincerity in his voice that makes my heart ache in the best way. But at the same time, I know what I want, and I'm not afraid to admit it.

"I'm fine with it too," I whisper back, my voice barely above a breath. "But I'd really like to."

His eyes darken with desire, and I can see the struggle in his expression, the way he's holding himself back. But then I say the words I've been holding in since last night, the ones that tip the balance. "I can't stop thinking about last night... how good it felt in my bed."

That's all it takes. The last of his restraint crumbles, and he's kissing me again, more urgently this time, his hands roaming my body as if he can't get enough. I kiss him back just as fiercely, losing myself in the heat of the moment, in the way he makes me feel like I'm the only person in the world who matters.

This is exactly where I want to be, exactly what I want to feel. And I'm not about to let anything—least of all a bruised hand—get in the way of that.