Travis said to act normal, right? What’s more normal than grabbing a hot chocolate with my best friend?
I pack up my bag, Bean safely tucked inside, and slip out of the office, my heart lighter at the thought of Jack’s café.
Bossy Travis canwait.
This is my time now.
I need a moment to breathe, to feel like myself again, not some spy caught between a vigilante Daddy and a possible conspiracy.
I pull my jacket tighter as I step onto the city street, the early evening air cool and sharp. The tracker presses against my waist, a nagging reminder, but I push it down. I’m not running from Travis—I’m just taking a detour.
A little fun won’t hurt, and besides, I deserve it after today.
The walk across town is brisk, the city alive with rush-hour chaos—cars honking, pedestrians weaving, neon signs flickering to life.
Jack’s café, The Sugar Spoon, glows like a beacon, its pink and yellow sign a familiar comfort.
I push open the door, the bell jingling, and spot Jack behind the counter, his apron dusted with flour, his smile bright as he waves me over.
“Miles! You’re alive!” Jack teases, pulling me into a hug. “Where’ve you been? I was about to send a search party.”
I laugh, the sound easing the knot in my chest.
“Just… work stuff,” I say, dodging the truth. I can’t tell him about Travis, the tracker, or the mess my life’s become. Not yet. “Can you make me a hot chocolate? Extra marshmallows?”
“Always,” Jack says, winking, and heads to the machine.
I settle at a corner table, Bean in my lap, and let the café’s warmth wrap around me. The screenshots burn a hole in my phone, but for now, I push them aside.
Travis’s waiting, and I know he won’t be happy about this detour, but I need this—need Jack’s laughter, the sugary comfort of marshmallows, a moment to pretend I’m not caught in a dangerous game.
I’ll face Travis soon enough, and when I do, I’ll have questions of my own—about the Guard, about Knox & Rain, and about a whole lot more on top of that too…
Chapter 12
Travis
The restaurant’s a swanky joint in the heart of the city’s business district, all polished wood, dim lighting, and overpriced wine lists.
I’m tucked into a corner booth, nursing a black coffee, my eyes fixed on Kyle Knox at a table across the room. He’s entertaining a corporate client, some suit with slicked-back hair and a watch that costs more than most people’s houses.
That’s it, asshole.
Keep laughing.
Show me who you are…
Kyle’s loud, his laugh grating as he waves for another bottle of champagne, the stressed-out waitress scurrying to keep up. I keep my phone low, snapping subtle photos of the client, my movements practiced and discreet.
I send them to Cole with a quick message…
TRAVIS: ID this guy. Knox’s lunch date. Urgent.
I lean back, blending into the booth’s shadows, my black jacket and plain t-shirt making me just another guy grabbing a late lunch.
But my mind’s not entirely here.
It keeps drifting to this morning, to that moment when I stepped out of the shower, water still dripping off my skin, and caught Miles’ wide-eyed stare through the crack in the bathroom door. His face—flushed, awestruck, with a hint of embarrassed arousal—burns in my memory like a snapshot.
