“You nearly got into a stranger’s vehicle.”
“He looked official.”
“He was wearing a Patek Philippe.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
And even though she was still embarrassed, Lexy found herself fighting back a smile at the way Leon pinched the bridge of his nose. He always did that when she exasperated him, and for a moment—just a moment—it felt like before. Like nothing had changed between them.
But everything had changed.
And she couldn’t let herself forget that.
The coffee situation was even worse.
The first morning, she’d presented him with a cup that she was genuinely proud of, only to watch his face go carefully blank after the first sip.
“You hate it,” she said.
“It’s fine.”
“Your eye is twitching.”
“I have a condition.”
“You don’t have a condition.” But she was almost smiling again, and that was dangerous, so she made herself look away. “I’ll do better tomorrow.”
She did not do better tomorrow.
The second morning’s coffee was so strong that Leonidas had to actively prevent his face from puckering. He drank it anyway, and Lexy watched him with a mixture of mortification and something warmer that she refused to name.
“You really don’t have to drink it,” she said softly.
“It’s fine.”
“Leon—”
“I said it’s fine.”
By the third morning, she’d somehow produced something that was both burnt AND watery, a feat he hadn’t known was chemically possible. But when she handed him the cup with such hopeful, anxious eyes, he found himself drinking every drop.
“Better,” he lied.
The smile she gave him was small and uncertain, and it made his chest ache in ways he didn’t want to examine too closely.
By day five, the coffee was merely mediocre, and Leonidas had never been more absurdly proud of a cup of mediocre coffee in his life.
But if watching her domestic struggles made him want to wrap her in cotton wool and never let her lift a finger again, his own shortcomings were far more devastating to discover.
“Mrs. Patterson,” Lexy said on day four, frowning at her phone. “Your driver’s wife. She just had surgery.”
Leonidas looked up from his laptop. “What?”
“Gallbladder. She’s been in the hospital since Tuesday.” Lexy was already typing. “I’m sending flowers from both of us.”
“I didn’t know Patterson was married.”
His wife’s fingers stilled on the screen, and when she looked at him, there was something sad in her expression. Not judgmental. Just...sad.
