She gestured toward the cabinet tucked into a corner, its varnish chipped but polished clean. "You want to help put some of these in?"
"Sure." He paused, his eyes fixed on her. She wasn't the shimmering dancer bathed in stage lights tonight. Just Ivy in her plain T-shirt and leggings, standing in her modest apartment. It fascinated him.
Winn bent, lifting one of the boxes and began moving them toward the living room table. The muscles in his forearms flexed, the veins visible, and Ivy caught herself watching him for a beat too long. She quickly busied herself opening the cabinet.
His gaze flicked around her home, drinking it in. The faded rug. The secondhand sofa with a little tear on the armrest. Then his eyes snagged on the photographs hanging neatly on the wall.
Pictures of Ivy smiling beside her parents, her father's arm draped proudly around her shoulders.
