Renna Rose Lancaster never searched for love.
She stumbled into it long before she was old enough to know what to call it.
It lived inside flower crowns that barely survived a minute on his head. Pebbles he slipped into her pockets because every tre...
"The theory says that there are an infinite number of universes,
And in those infinite number of universes there are an infinite number of ways we could have met and fallen apart,
And I'd like to think that in atleast some of them, you love me back the way I needed you in this one,
And we practice a forever instead of a maybe."
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The room greeted me with shadows and silver spills of moonlight. The candles I had lit earlier were reduced to pathetic stumps, except for one still burning on the dresser, flame flickering like it was whispering gossip with the dark.
I shoved the door shut with my hip, the creak echoing. It was so different here compared to the city's noise. No car horns, no students screaming outside pubs, no neon light from bars creeping under curtains. Just forest, mountain, and cold air that smelled faintly of pine and earth.
The hem of my gown hissed softly across the wooden floor as I climbed up onto the bed, its old frame groaning under my weight like it had just been woken up from a hundred-year nap. I curled my legs beneath me, leaning my elbows on the windowsill, eyes locked on the forest outside.
The trees were endless, an ocean of black stretching until the world gave up and quit. The moon was a coin tossed across the branches, and the wind tangled itself between them, making them sway like restless giants.
The glass was frosted from the chill, and my finger couldn't resist sketching nonsense onto it.
Stars. Swirls. The world's worst attempt at a wolf.
Then, because apparently I am five years old at heart, a giant heart with an arrow through it. And then, because I am reckless in all the wrong ways, I scribbled A + R.
Before I could add a crown on top of the heart, the door cracked open. I whipped around, shawl slipping down my arm.
Aadam walked in like he owned the place. Which, irritatingly, he kind of did, considering this was Cameron's family cabin and he'd been absorbed into the Eriksen ecosystem years ago.
Still.
Did he need to look like a Calvin Klein ad while barging into my private, sacred, extremely secret doodling session?
The door slammed shut behind him with a heavy thud. He peeled off his jacket without breaking stride, the thick fabric scraping over his broad shoulders before he flung it to the floor in a careless heap.
He crossed the room without a glance my way, planting the thermos on the edge of the dressing table. The metal gave a faint, muted sound as it met the wood.
A whisper of heat escaped when his fingers brushed the lid. He tightened it with a small twist of his wrist, automatic, precise, like his hands were used to fixing things before they became problems.
