Dom leaned back in his chair, the pillow still clutched to his chest. "Anyway. How are you feeling? Really?" Hazel had an appointment with his mom yesterday while he was busy, and he wanted to know what his mom had told her.

Hazel touched her bandaged cheek. "Better. Much better. Your mom said I’ll need another surgery in three months, after the healing process finishes."

"And then?"

"And then she thinks my cheek will be completely healed."

Dom’s eyes softened. "That’s amazing."

"It’s because of you."

He shook his head. "It’s because of my mom."

"It’s because you introduced me to your mom."

He shrugged, but his ears turned pink.

Hazel looked at him then, really looked. His messy hair, his wrinkled hoodie, his ridiculous rant about race tickets. The way he had taken care of her without complaint, without expectation, without asking for anything in return.

"Thank you, Dom," she said quietly.

He met her eyes. "Anytime, Hazel."

Then Dom’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and groaned. "It’s Jason. He wants to know if I’ve distributed the tickets yet."

"What are you going to tell him?"

Dom typed back, then showed her the screen: Yes. To thirty very lucky pigeons.

Hazel snorted.

Jason’s response came immediately: Pigeons can’t attend races.

Dom typed back: These pigeons have excellent credit scores.

Hazel peeked at his chat and buried her face in her hands, laughing.

"Alright," Dom said, standing up and stretching his arms above his head. His hoodie rode up, revealing a strip of his stomach, and Hazel quickly looked away. "Now I’m taking my leave. If Jason finds out I’ve been lazy and haven’t distributed a single ticket to even one soul, he will kill me."

He dramatically drew a finger across his throat.

Hazel rolled her eyes. "He wouldn’t kill you."

"He would send me a strongly worded text. Which is basically the same thing."

She laughed.

Dom grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and shrugged it on. He patted his pockets, phone, wallet, keys, then looked at her one last time. "I’ll come by tomorrow. Same time. Same terrible jokes."

"I look forward to them."

He walked to the door, his footsteps light on the hardwood floor. His hand touched the doorknob. He paused. Then he turned back. His dark eyes found hers, his lips curving into a slow, warm grin, the kind that made her stomach flip and her heart forget how to beat properly.

He winked.

Then he opened the door and left. The door clicked shut behind him.

Hazel sat frozen on the couch, her hand pressed to her chest. Her heart was beating so fast she could feel it in her throat. Her cheeks were flushed red. Her lips were parted, breathless.

That guy. That ridiculous, wonderful, infuriating guy. He had stolen her heart simply with his humor, the way he made her laugh even when she wanted to cry. With his care, the way he had stayed by her side through every painful moment of recovery. With his handsomeness, the sharp jaw, the dark eyes, the messy hair that fell across his forehead no matter how many times he pushed it back. With being him. Just him.

Hazel pressed her palms to her eyes and groaned. "How did this happen?" she whispered to the empty room.

The empty room, of course, did not answer. But her heart did. It beat his name, over and over, in a rhythm she was beginning to recognize.

Dom. Dom. Dom.

She dropped her hands and stared at the door.

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

Meanwhile, no one stopped Dom at the Moretti Group headquarters. The guards at the entrance recognized him immediately. After all, he had been here several times before, trailing behind Leo or Jay or both. The receptionists waved him through. The security at the elevators nodded and pressed the button for the executive floor. Even the assistants in the hallways stepped aside, accustomed to his dramatic entrances and louder-than-necessary greetings.

He was on a mission. A simple one. Deliver the race tickets Jason had been harassing him about, drop off the envelope, and leave before anyone could ask him to do actual work. Jason had sent him thirty tickets, thirty, and Dom had been carrying them around for days, shoving the thick envelope into various bags and pockets, completely forgetting to distribute them to anyone.

He reached the higher-ups floor and walked with purpose toward Leo’s office. His mood was excellent. Hazel’s recovery was progressing well. Jason’s race was approaching. He had successfully avoided thinking about the tickets for almost a week. Life was good.

Leo’s fourth assistant, a sharp-eyed woman named Claire, looked up from her desk as Dom approached.

"Does Mr. King expect you?" she asked.

"Of course he does," Dom said breezily, patting the envelope in his jacket pocket. "I have an important delivery. Very official. Very time-sensitive."

Claire’s eyebrow twitched. "Let me announce you—"

"No need!" Dom patted her shoulder and strode past her. "I know the way."

"Mr. King—"

He pushed open the door and strode inside.

"Hello, Brother-in-law!" he announced cheerfully, waving the envelope in the air. "I come bearing gifts. Tickets to the most exciting racing event of the year, courtesy of Jason, who has apparently lost his mind and given me thirty of them!"

The room went silent.

Dom froze.

Leo sat behind his massive desk, his gray eyes fixed on Dom with an expression that was equal parts annoyance and anger. His hands were steepled in front of him and on the other side of the desk, seated in the plush leather chairs, were three men in expensive suits. They turned to look at Dom with mild curiosity, then glanced at Leo.

One of the men shrugged and turned back to his papers. The other two followed suit, clearly more focused on business than on Dom’s chaotic entrance.

Leo’s jaw tightened. "Dom. What are you doing here?"

Dom’s brain scrambled. Brother-in-law. He had called Leo brother-in-law. Out loud. In front of clients. Because in his head, Leo was his brother-in-law, or would be eventually, if his hopeless pining for Hazel ever led anywhere.

But the clients didn’t seem to care. They had already moved on, scribbling notes, checking documents, muttering about contracts.

Dom let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. "Tickets!" he said, holding up the envelope. "Jason’s race. He sent me thirty tickets. Thirty! I don’t have thirty friends. I don’t even like thirty people."

Leo pinched the bridge of his nose. "You interrupted a meeting to give me race tickets?"