Off Limits.

Callie

The clock read 1:47 AM.

I'd been tossing and turning for hours, my thoughts a mess of heat and memory and the way Grayson Carter had looked at me earlier, like he was trying not to look at all.

I gave up on sleep and slipped downstairs, sketchbook under my arm, phone in the other.

The house was dark and silent, the kind of quietness that settles deep in your bones. The only light came from the dim undercabinet glow in the kitchen.

Instead of heading there again, I sank into the living room couch. The air was warm, humming with summer humidity that clung to the skin, and I curled my legs beneath me as I flipped to a blank page.

Lines flowed beneath my fingers before I even knew what I was drawing... broad shoulders, calloused hands, a tired gaze. It was like muscle memory took over.

I didn't hear him at first.

The soft tread of his steps on the hardwood floor made me freeze. Then his voice, low and rough;

"Can't sleep again?"

I turned my head slowly. Grayson stood in the archway, wearing gray sweatpants and a faded navy T-shirt. Hair tousled, jaw shadowed with stubble, barefoot. Not as shirtless as last time but somehow more dangerous like this. More real.

"Something like that," I murmured.

His eyes fell to my sketchbook. "You are still drawing."

"Helps clear my head."

He walked farther in and stood a few feet away, hesitating like he wasn't sure if he should sit or leave. I could see the debate play out on his shoulders. I didn't say anything.

Finally, he lowered himself into the armchair across from me.

"What's keeping you up?" he asked.

I let out a soft breath, surprised he cared. "New place. Weird memories. The usual."

"I thought you liked being here."

"I did," I said. "I do. It's just... I'm not the same anymore. And everything else is. That's a weird feeling."

He nodded slowly. "Yeah. I get that."

We sat in silence for a few moments, the only sound was the slow ticking of the clock on the wall.

"You didn't used to be this quiet," I said without thinking.

His eyes flicked to mine. "You didn't used to be this grown up."

I felt something shift. The air between us wasn't just tense, it was sharp and magnetic.

I swallowed. "Didn't think I'd change that much."

"You didn't change," he said. "You just... grew into yourself."

The compliment hit deeper than I expected. He looked tired, eyes shadowed. But he wasn't looking at me like a father-figure or a family friend. He was looking at me like a man who noticed too much.

I flipped the sketchpad closed, the drawing too raw to let him see.

"You're still working crazy hours?" I asked, changing the subject.

"Trying not to. Mia gets on my case when I burn out."

I smiled faintly. "She worries."

"She gets that from her mom," he said. "But she's right. I've been trying to slow down."

His gaze drifted to the window, the dim glow of the backyard just visible through the curtains.

"You used to sit out there with Mia for hours," he said.

"Yeah. Until your sprinkler timer went off and soaked us."

He chuckled under his breath. It was low and warm, and it made something flutter in my chest.

"You girls were chaos," he said. "But it was the good kind."

The room fell quiet again. I could feel my pulse in my ears.

Then the couch cushion dipped slightly as I shifted, curling up tighter. The sketchbook slid to the side. I didn't even realize my eyes were drooping until everything started to blur.

"Callie?"

I blinked.

I must've nodded off. I was still curled on the couch, the sketchpad beside me. But Grayson was closer now, kneeling beside the armrest, hand reaching toward my face.

His fingers brushed a strand of hair away from my cheek. It was gentle. Reverent. Like he didn't even know he was doing it.

And I didn't stop him.

My heart raced when our eyes met.

His hand froze, still tangled in the edge of my hair.

I didn't speak. Neither did he.

Something cracked open inside me, a want that had nothing to do with rebellion and everything to do with being seen.

Then his expression shifted. Regret. Restraint.

He stood quickly. Too quickly.

"You should get some sleep," he said, voice tight.

I nodded, sitting up. "Yeah. Right."

He hesitated again. Like there was something else he wanted to say. But instead, he turned and walked away.

I sat there for a long time after he was gone, my hand still tingling from where his fingers had touched my skin.

I knew we had just crossed a line.

Even if we hadn't said a word.