"Can you scoot over a little? My bag’s getting crushed," Fiona said, nudging Ryan’s knee with her tote as she squeezed into the cramped bus seat beside him. He shifted, his broad shoulders brushing against hers, and muttered an apology under his breath. The bus lurched forward, and she grabbed the seat in front of her to steady herself, her fingers brushing his arm by accident.

Fiona was in her late twenties, with a sharp jawline and a faint smudge of eyeliner that made her hazel eyes pop. Her dark hair was pulled into a messy bun, a few strands escaping to frame her face. Ryan, on the other hand, looked like he’d just rolled out of bed—his flannel shirt was wrinkled, and his stubble was more scruff than style. He smelled faintly of coffee and something earthy, like cedarwood.

"Thanks," she said, glancing at him as she adjusted her bag. "You heading downtown too?" Ryan nodded, his gaze flickering to her for a moment before he looked out the window. The bus slowed at the next stop, and a group of rowdy teenagers piled on, their laughter filling the cramped space. Fiona leaned closer to Ryan, her voice dropping. "This is going to be a long ride." He turned to her, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, just as the bus jerked to a halt again.