Page 95 of This Life of Mine

I hesitate before deciding to ask.

“Can I ask you something else?” I ask.

He turns his attention to me, attentive. “Of course.”

“I noticed you’ve been working from the shop,” I continue. “I assume what you do can be done remotely.” I shrug lightly. “Why Redwillow?”

It’s not an accusation. Only curiosity.

He considers the question, eyes unfocused as if weighing the shape of the truth.

He lets the silence stretch before speaking. “I’m here for a job.”

“That’s what I figured,” I reply. “Is it something you can talk about?”

“I can tell you it’s an ongoing one,” he says, carefully. “Remote work covers most of it so I can typically work where I want. Yourbookshop is very convenient. The atmosphere is inviting. Better than being at my Airbnb.”

I nod. “So it’s temporary?”

“Yes,” he answers. Adding “At least, thatwasthe plan.”

Something in his tone shifts, subtle, but present.

I cock my head. “And now?”

He meets my eyes. There’s no evasion there, only restraint. “Now it’s complicated.”

I smile faintly, not pushing. “Fair enough. I won’t push,” I say, showing my hands.

He returns the smile, appreciative. “Thank you for not interrogating me.”

He turns back to the stove and lifts the lid, steam rising between us in a slow, hazy veil. Whatever brought him here—it’s serious. That much is clear.

But there’s something else, too.

A steadiness in him. A deliberateness in the way he measures his words before letting them fall. He isn’t dodging or deflecting. It doesn’t feel like deception. It feels…contained. Like he’s holding back not to mislead me—but because whatever sits beneath the surface runs deeper than he can reveal.

Chapter thirty

Alex

Ifinish with the last details. Parsley, a squeeze of lemon, a final check of seasoning. The kitchen is already clean. I’ve been wiping as I go, muscle memory kicking in just like it normally does.

After we eat, the only mess left will be the dishes. I’ll take care of those, too.

I dry my hands and lean against the counter for a moment, watching Lina move around her dining space. She lays out plates and utensils with quiet focus and reaches for a pitcher of water from the fridge.

No soda or sweet drinks for either of us. Another small alignment I hadn’t expected. Water works for both of us.

I’m painfully aware of how carefully I’ve had to choose my words tonight. Every answer measured. Every truth trimmed enough to be honest without detonating the evening. I understand that I must inform her at some point. Why I’m really here, why Redwillow wasn’t an accident, whysheis at the center of it all.

But not tonight. Tonight matters too much.

She turns away from the counter, and I shift my gaze elsewhere, so she doesn’t catch me staring.

Lina’s hair falls straight down her back, black and glossy, nearly brushing the curve of her ass when she shifts her weight.

She’s in tiny blue jean shorts and a loose T-shirt that readsReading is Life, the fabric hanging long enough to be misleading. Comfortable. Sexy as fuck.