Anna's POV:

Monday buries itself in paperwork before nine o'clock. I keep my head down, cursor moving, and pretend I don't feel the weight of the weekend still pressed somewhere behind my ribs—his hands, the tent, that admission I made under a sky full of stars. 'You know what you said,' my wolf notes, perfectly unhelpful. 'You know what he said back.'

I know. I'm trying to work.

What I can't shake is Saturday—Simon at the piano, the room ...