She blinked. “You … would consider living here? In Paternoster?”
He smiled, slow and sure. “If this thing between us grows and you’re here, why not?”
And just like that, the air shifted — heavy with disbelief, with longing, and with the terrifying possibility that he might just mean it.
Her heart hammered against her ribs, her pulse a wild, fluttering thing she couldn’t control.
He leaned forward, forearms braced on the table, his gaze locked on hers — steady, unflinching, achingly sincere. “You are an extraordinary woman, Suzette Bosch. And it would be remiss of me not to make the effort to get to know you better — to see if this attraction has the legs I believe it does. You’re worth it.”
For a moment, she could only stare at him, words caught somewhere between disbelief and wonder.
Worth it.
The simple phrase sank deep, brushing against old wounds she’d thought long healed. No one had ever said something like that to her — not with that kind of conviction.
A throwaway toddler, father unknown, unwanted by her birth mother, passed from one family member to another until she finally landed at the children’s home.
Her throat tightened, her eyes stung. And even though every rational thought told her to guard herself, to pull back, she felt her resolve beginning to crumble under the weight of his quiet honesty.
You’re worth it.
That might just be the kindest — and most dangerous — thing a man had ever said to her.
And later that night, after they finished their meal — Justin’s lemon posset with shortbread, so light and creamy it melted on her tongue, surpassing even the fish stew — they sat side by side on the balcony, sipping the wine she brought.
A comfortable silence settled between them as they watched the tide inch higher beneath a sky scattered with stars. The rhythmic hush of waves and the faint creak of wicker chairs filled the spaces where words weren’t needed.
When he finally walked her home — all the way to her flat tucked behind the hotel — the night air was cool and fragrant with sea salt and lavender. He’d said goodnight with that quiet smile of his, and for a long moment she thought he might kiss her. Might even expectmore. But he didn’t. He only brushed a strand of hair from her face and whispered, “Sleep well, sweet Suze.”
Now, lying in her bed with the sound of the ocean seeping through the open doors of her tiny balcony and the breeze stirring the sheer curtains, Suzette stared at the ceiling and wondered if she would’ve let him in.
Her flat was her sanctuary. Had been ever since the day Esther left for university, and she’d moved from the little house two streets up to here. A place that was purely hers — for the first time in her life she didn’t have to share her space. Homely,crowded with the bits and pieces of her life — crochet squares piled in a wicker basket waiting to be stitched together, delicate macramé beadwork mid-pattern, a knee-length jersey needing only its buttons — and the inevitable piles of half-read books. All signs of a restless soul. Someone who drifted from one interest to the next, never quite finding the elusive something that could hold her attention for long.
Did she want JK—
No. Not JK Kenzie.
Justin Knox McKenzie.
Did she really want to let the man born to Hollywood royalty — a man who dated celebrities, lived in mansions, and owned his own jet — step into her real life?
Into this small, cluttered, ordinary space where nothing matched, everything meant something and, God help her, one drawer was stuffed with his DVDs.
A tiny, humiliating irony tugged at her: He’d kept her company on the nights when loneliness crept in, his voice and smile flickering across her living room like he belonged.
But after Texas — after the explosive encounter with the real man — she hadn’t been able to watch a single one of his movies.
The screen version felt flat, distant.
A shadow.
Because the real Justin Knox McKenzie was so much better.
And he said the most wondrous things.
Soft, devastating things like “You’re worth it” and “I’ve never met anyone I wanted to share every moment of my life with. Until you.”
Words like that … they made an ordinary woman living a cluttered life believe in the extraordinary.
