Chapter 7

The morning light filtered through the sheer, expensive linen curtains of the private dining suite, casting long, pale rectangles across the rumpled silk sheets. It was a soft, diffused glow, the kind that belonged to early spring mornings in the city, quiet and hushed. I blinked awake, my mind still heavy with the remnants of sleep, and for a second, I didn’t know where I was. Then, the scent hit me—expensive cedar, the faint, clean aroma of the cedar planks from the sushi bar, and beneath it all, the distinct, masculine musk of him. I wasn’t in my bed. I wasn’t in the sleek, minimalist apartment I shared with my few close friends. I was here, in the back of *Kaze*, the exclusive omakase spot that had booked out their entire private room for us last night. We must have crashed there after the dessert course, too full, too drunk on sake and each other, too exhausted from the day’s proceedings to make the trip back to my place. The king-sized bed in the corner was large enough to sleep three, but we had claimed it for ourselves, tangled together in a knot of limbs and linen. I shifted slightly,