He’s in a similar uniform to the ones I’ve seen him in the past couple of times we’ve met—black, beautifully cut trousers, white, beautifully cut shirt, open at the neck. But there’s something about seeing him here, freshly showered, his dark curls damp and raked off his face, beard immaculate, that motherfucking cologne already wafting over to me, that steals the breath from my lungs.
