Page 114 of Surfer's Paradise

She never even told him about Greg Taylor.

Or the new developments with her show.

Or the updates from Amy.

And Isaac?

He hadn’t asked.

But she was trying not to get angry. Trying to be patient. Trying to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Even if it was hard.

Even if her heart still ached from what happened last night.

She blinked slowly, her eyelids growing heavier, the sounds from the TV fading into background noise.

She barely registered the click of the front door unlocking.

Barely stirred at the sound of boots on hardwood.

Then—

A warm hand brushed over her cheek.

“Hey, Coco,” Isaac’s voice was low, rough, exhausted.

Her eyelashes fluttered, her body shifting instinctively toward the warmth.

She opened her eyes to find him kneeling beside the couch, his dark gaze softening as he took her in.

His hair was still damp from a post-training shower, his jaw rough with stubble, his body still radiating the day’s exhaustion.

Rosie blinked at him, groggy, her brain struggling to catch up.

He grinned slightly, brushing a stray strand of hair from her forehead.

“You look so cute in my shirt,” he said.

It was unfair, how effortlessly charming he was, even when he looked like he’d just gone through hell.

Rosie couldn’t help it.

She grinned sleepily.

Isaac’s lips tugged at the corner.

Then, he straightened, rolling his shoulders, glancing toward the kitchen.

His brows lifted. “You cooked?”

Rosie motioned toward the stove, said drowsily, “Figured you’d be hungry. You always are.”

Isaac exhaled, rubbing his hand over his jaw, looking at her like she’d just knocked the air out of him.

“Hell, Coco,” he muttered. “What am I gonna do with you?”

And for the first time all night—

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