His eyes flew open.
Those eyes. Goddess, those eyes. Shining, wet, startled. And when they locked on mine, it was like the whole room stopped existing.
“I didn’t want to interrupt you,” I whispered, my voice trembling more than I wanted. “But you… you’re really good.”
I stuttered. Actually stuttered. And my cheeks burned instantly, like I was some teenager caught staring at her crush for the first time.
Stan blinked, clearly taken aback. His lips parted, then closed again. Finally, he cleared his throat, his voice low and rough.
“Thank you.”
That single word made my chest ache.
He shifted, as though trying to gather himself, and then asked quietly, “Do you want me to stop? Did you need anything?”
The shyness in his tone almost floored me. This man, who carried himself like a fortre
