Faked Disappearance, Real Love's End

Holly Baxter's POV

Keegan emerged from the bathroom, holding my freshly washed sweater, his hair still damp.

His expression was calm, but the faint flush around his eyes betrayed his earlier tension.

I gave him a knowing smile. "Keegan, are your hands working fine now?"

He froze.

"Was there something on the clothes?" I pointed at the sweater. "Anything that shouldn't be there?"

He quickly shook his head. "No, Holly. Everything is perfectly clean."

"I'm not going to check, Keegan."

I studied him for a moment—tall, broad-shouldered, and well-built. Far more physically imposing than Beckham.

"I might have another dress for you to wash later."

He lowered his gaze, a slight blush creeping up his neck.

I walked up to him, unbuttoned his shirt, stood on my tiptoes, and kissed him.

I pulled back slightly. "Beckham... he might really be dead, Keegan. This is all... just too overwhelming. Can you stay with me tonight? I don't want to be alone."

I used Beckham's "death" to justify my actions.

Keegan's eyes widened in shock and pure joy. Our relationship had crossed a major threshold.

In my heart, there was absolutely no feeling left for Beckham. Any lingering affection had been thoroughly incinerated.