Liam was the opposite. He was a whitewater kayak instructor, six feet of restless energy, with hands scarred from rocks and ropes. His life was a torrent of rapids, early mornings, and the roar of water crashing against granite. He lived for the moment when control slips away and you just have to hold on. His apartment smelled of neoprene and river mud. He’d never mended a book, never pressed a flower, and the last time he’d drunk chamomile tea, it was by accident, mistaking it for something stronger.
Dainty Wilder worked as a restoration specialist for rare books. She spent her days mending torn vellum and re-sewing broken spines with threads thinner than a whisper. In her world, everything was slow, careful, and achingly gentle. She drank chamomile tea from a cup with a chipped rim—she refused to replace it, said it had character. She pressed flowers between the pages of novels she’d already read three times. She spoke softly, laughed less softly, and moved through the world as if afraid of breaking it. dainty wilder torrent
“I am relaxed,” she said, through clenched teeth. Liam was the opposite
“Relax,” he said.