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She showed up mad in tiny shorts. He showed up scarred, silent, and completely unprepared for her.

My best friend's brother has been keeping me up at night. His angle grinder kicks in every evening like clockwork, sending sparks across my ceiling and ruining every good intention I never had. So I march next door to give him a piece of my mind.

One look at those scarred forearms and graphite-dark eyes, and I forget every complaint I rehearsed.

He's fifteen years older. A man built from silence and steel, who lives alone in a trailer behind the shop.

I practically throw myself at him, and when he finally breaks, he doesn't just kiss me. The things he whispers about giving me a baby while he's holding me — broken, desperate confessions that prove the quiet ones burn the hottest.

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