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Moving In

Matteo pulled up, the Jeep’s tires kneading to a gritty halt on asphalt. He turned off the engine and climbed out, stretching his tall frame. His tank top stuck to his sweaty skin as he walked, muscles tense. He frowned at the huge white box truck parked in his spot.

“Motherfucker,” he growled, voice low and rough, the sound vibrating in his chest like distant thunder.

He found a spot down the street and slammed the Jeep’s door, making the whole car shake. He walked up the driveway, boots thudding and gym bag bumping his leg. He smelled of sweat, cedar body wash, and the scent of someone who’d just finished a tough workout. The front door was wide open, held by a rolled-up rug. It looked like trouble was awaiting.

Inside, the air reeked of wood, polish, and sweat. Movers grunted as they hauled a large desk upstairs. One man’s forearm strained with effort. Another squeezed past, carrying a plastic-wrapped desk chair, still faintly scented with luxury.

Matteo squeezed against the wall, his large frame feeling out of place. The movers’ heat and curses filled the room. He frowned, realizing this wasn’t just a delivery; it was a takeover.

He made his way through the crowd of movers, his gym bag hitting his hip, and walked into the kitchen.

Then everything seemed to pause.

Sadie Collins sat at the kitchen island as if she belonged there.

She wore a pair of jogging shorts and a thin tank top that hugged her chest, a bra visible; her hair twisted in a messy bun, loose strands framing her neck.

She ate her cereal calmly, dipping her spoon and taking quiet bites. Her tongue caught a drop of oat milk on her lip. In her other hand, she held an anatomy flashcard showing a cross-section of a human heart. Her electric blue eyes, sharp and tired, studied the diagram with intense focus.

Santiago Morales stood next to her, calm and steady. He was tall and strong, his dark skin shining and his black hair still messy. His large hand rested on the back of Sadie’s neck, thumb moving in slow circles just below her ear. The touch was close and familiar, showing they belonged to each other. Sadie leaned into it, letting out a small sigh when his thumb found a sensitive spot.

Matteo let his gym bag fall, the loud thud echoing through the kitchen.

“Did I miss a memo?” His voice came out rough, edged with disbelief and something darker. He gestured wildly toward the hallway, biceps flexing, veins standing out. “Who the hell died and left you a furniture store, Chago? Why are four grown-ass men trying to wedge a desk the size of a minivan into the spare room?”

Santiago’s deep voice rolled out, smooth as aged whiskey. “It’s not mine.” His hand continues to massage Sadie’s neck. “That’s Sadie’s desk. My King bed should be here soon.”

Matteo had been blindly reaching into the open fridge for oat milk, his dehydrated body craving it. His fingers closed around the cold carton. Then he froze.

Time seemed to slow down.

Matteo’s mind finally caught up.

The carton slipped from his hand and fell in silence. It hit the counter with a wet smack, splashing oat milk everywhere. A drop landed on Sadie’s arm, but she didn’t react.

Suddenly, memories hit him all at once.

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