Yes

They stepped out of the car into the quiet thrum of the closed garage, the rain now a dull roar on the roof above. Emily adjusted her gym bag over her shoulder and followed Rami toward the door that led into the house, the concrete floor cool beneath her sneakers.

As soon as he pushed the door open, he reached for the hem of his damp T-shirt and peeled it off in one smooth motion, the fabric clinging to his torso for a moment before coming free. He tossed it into the open laundry room to the right without even glancing back.

Emily blinked.

His back muscles flexed as he moved through the threshold, his shoulders broader than she remembered—definitely not the wiry teenager who used to rake leaves shirtless in his parents’ backyard. This was… a man. No question. And he had just stripped in front of her like it was nothing.

She hesitated at the door.

“Go ahead,” Rami said, glancing over his shoulder with a half-smirk. “You came to check on the place, right? Make sure I haven’t turned it into a frat house?”

Emily’s lips twitched in a guilty smile. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

He waved her off and headed for the stairs. “Look around. I’ll be right down.”

She stepped inside, brushing past the faint scent of detergent and damp fabric. The laundry room opened up into the main living space, and as soon as Emily turned the corner into the hallway, she stopped.

The house was… spotless.

Not just tidy. Clean. The entry rug was aligned perfectly. Shoes neatly by the door. No laundry or clutter. No stacks of dishes. The floor had even been vacuumed recently, judging by the lines in the carpet.

She stepped further in, into the living room. The couch was fluffed and arranged, throw pillows undisturbed. The only hint of actual life was a single bowl and a glass sitting on the coffee table, next to the TV remote. Clearly someone had eaten breakfast here that morning. That was it.

No ****. No mess. No lingering smell of weed or anything else.

Emily looked around, guilt already creeping in.

She hadn’t meant to imply he was irresponsible. Or immature. But now that she was standing in the quiet, neat stillness of the Heydaris' living room, it struck her just how unfair the assumption had been.

He was doing fine.

Better than fine.

And she’d marched herself in here under the guise of checking up on him like he was some overgrown boy who needed supervising.

She let her bag slide off her shoulder and glanced toward the stairs.

Damn.