Page 123 of This Life of Mine

Chapter thirty-eight

Alex

Driving back toward town, the sky begins to soften at the edges.

I know where Lina is without checking. She’ll be at the shop, moving through her morning routines long before the doors open. That’s who she is. Even after everything, she shows up.

I don’t go straight there like I usually do.

Instead, I return to the Airbnb to clean up, to reset. To releaseThe Wraith.

Reese is already watching the feeds I set up around the shop and nearby streets. If anything so much as blinks wrong, I’ll know. Still, I don’t like the distance. Even a few blocks feels like too much right now. The anxiety jitters my bones.

Well, that’s fucking new.

I’ve spent my life compartmentalizing. People, places, jobs. Care has always been a liability. Yet, somehow, Lina slipped past every wall I’ve ever built.

It started before we touched, before the night blurred into hours of exhaustion and something gravely close to comfort.

I can still hold the memory of her in my arms. The way she fits there so naturally. Small but all curves and warmth. The way she smells. The way she trusted me without knowing the full truth of who and what I am, and then how she didn’t recoil as I let her see more of me.

I’ve dated. I’ve had good sex. I’ve cared a little before. But this is different.

With her, I felt…open. Like I could tell her anything and not be reduced to what I’m capable of doing. At first I was afraid, more than I want to admit. That if she knew the full scope of my work, she’d see me as something fucked-up. Hazardous. Unfit for anything normal. Instead, she listened.

She didn’t excuse it. She didn’t flinch. She drew her own line. And somehow, it aligned with mine.

You only hurt bad people.

That mattered to her. It mattered to me that it mattered.

As I finish cleaning up, my phone buzzes.

I exhale, tension easing slightly. I’ll head over soon.

Somewhere between protecting her and wanting her, the line disappeared.

I know this: My desire for her will never be satisfied. I am endlessly amazed by her.

Whatever this becomes—whatever it costs, I’m in. I’m already too deep to pretend otherwise.

I step into the shop after opening, a small bell over the entrance chiming softly behind me.

Sunday mornings are quiet—at least until church lets out. It’s barely eight, only a handful of customers scattered at tables, coffee steaming in their hands. The place feels calm. Normal.

I see Lina. She’s behind the counter, hair pulled back, sleeves rolled up, already in motion. She looks tired. Bruised beneath the surface, but steady. Alive. When her eyes meet mine, something unspoken passes between us. A look. A decision.

We both know we need to talk.

She rounds the counter without hesitation and heads straight for me. She grabs my hand, and I follow her through the back hallway, past the familiar hum of the kitchen, until we reach the office. She pulls me inside and shuts the door firmly behind us.

The tension is immediate. She’s still mad. It’s written all over her. But she’s here.

I don’t give myself time to overthink it. I reach for her and kiss her.

It’s instinct more than choice—our bodies recognizing each other before our minds can interfere. For a split second she freezes, breath catching between us, and then she kisses me backwith the same need. All that frustration, the fear, the things left unsaid pour straight into it.

Her mouth opens under mine, warm and urgent. I taste her—coffee, sugar, something unmistakably Lina—and the kiss deepens, turns hungry. She grips my shirt as if she’s looking for a reliable anchor, and I pull her closer, chest to chest, feeling the way she fits against me, as if this has always been where she belongs.