Page 260 of The Professor's Wife

“It wasn’t her age,” he said dismissively. “It was her openness. Most people are already fixed by the time you meet them. Daisy wasn’t. She had hairline fractures she mistook for freedom. A trained eye could see them.”

“And you fixed her?”

His smile barely moved. “I gave her structure.”

I just stared at him, wordless. There was something about him that put me on edge. The guy spoke about his wife like she’d been an unfinished object when he found her. It went against the point of love, didn’t it? Wasn’t the person you fell in love with already supposed to be perfect for you?

I mulled over his words, unable to stop.

“You think someone can be born broken?”

He leaned back, fingers tapping once against the table before going still. “Plato imagined people made from different metals. Gold, silver, bronze. Some hold their shape under pressure. Others bend.”

“And Daisy?”

“Daisy learned to.”

His smile was gentle—too fucking gentle.

Then, almost idly, he declared, “You… I haven’t decided yet.”

My jaw tightened before I could stop it. Oliver noticed, and his smile broadened.

“Don’t look so offended,” he murmured. “Most men never get the privilege of being evaluated at all. They live and die without anyone ever truly seeing them.”

“And me?” I couldn’t help but ask. “Does your trained eye see what I am?”

“You, Tristan… you’re interesting. You have the posture of a man who thinks he’s gold. But the eyes… the eyes tell me a different story.”

Heat crawled up my neck. “What story?”

He made a thoughtful sound. “That you’re not sure what you are. And uncertainty,” he said, tapping the table once, “is the first sign of a crack.”

I didn’t rise to the bait. I met Oliver’s stare with equal measure.

“Uncertainty is awareness, Oliver, not a crack,” I said.

Oliver’s eyes lit up with interest. “Awareness,” he repeated. “A rare trait. Most boys your age mistake impulse for instinct.”

I didn’t respond, even though the wordboywas aimed to make me flinch. Stillness was my own kind of defiance. Fuck him and his weird-as-fuck ideas. I couldn’t imagine how stifling it would be to live with this kind of bullshit spouted in my ear all day fucking long. The man was unbearable and I’d known him for five fucking seconds.

“You’re composed,” he remarked next. “More than I expected. Most people your age… they give themselves away without realizing it.”

My pulse thudded once, hard, but my face stayed blank. “Give what away?”

Oliver’s lips parted, but before he could speak, a booming voice cut through the quiet.

“Oliver! Back so soon!”

We both turned as a large man strode over, wiping his hands on a towel, grinning as if he’d just spotted a celebrity. Oliver’s expression changed. He was instantly pleasant, the mask sliding into place easily.

“Morning, Tom,” he said blandly.

Tom clapped him on the shoulder. “Heading up Old Mill Road? Thought you might be out hunting this early. Perfect time for medium-sized game—coyotes, maybe a young buck if you’re lucky.”

Oliver’s smile didn’t falter, but annoyance briefly flickered in his eyes. “Just checking on the place,” he said smoothly. “Making sure everything’s in order.”

Tom nodded. “Good idea. You get those traps working again? Any sight of that cougar prowling around?”