Then I said the part she hadn’t let herself say out loud.
“And I think you’re next.”
34
PHOENIX
Her fingers trembled as she reached for the glass of wine.
She was trying to keep it together, but I saw right through her. I could see the fear, the fatigue, the weight of something she hadn’t said yet. My gut twisted. I hated it—that look on her face. The vulnerability she didn’t show anyone else. But she was showing it to me.
A minute stretched between us, the crackle of the fire filling the silence.
“It’s time, Rose,” I said, my voice low. “It’s time for you to take this seriously. Someone has formed a sick obsession with you, and we need to consider all angles. Look at everyone. I need you to look into your past. I know it’s uncomfortable, but we need to talk about it. We need to figure out who is after you.”
Her gaze drifted toward the living room, her lips parting like she wanted to say something but thought better of it. She was retreating, emotionally bracing. I recognized it because I did the same thing when I didn’t want to face my own demons.
After a moment, she quietly said, “Go stoke the fire. I’ll be right there.”
I nodded and stood, giving her space, but my chest ached as I turned away. I didn’t want space. I wanted to wrap her in my arms and swear nothing would ever touch her again.
Five minutes later, she came back with two mugs of coffee and a single slice of tiramisu. She placed them on the coffee table like it was any other night.
“You keep this up and I might never leave,” I said, trying to lighten the moment.
“Sorry that there’s only one piece. Thought we could share.” Her voice was softer now. “I’ve kind of indulged over the last forty-eight hours.”
“Stress eater?”
She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Someone I know might refer to that as emotional eating.”
“Hey, I’m the only one with the license to psychoanalyze in this room.” She winked and handed me a cup. “Decaf.”
“Because it’s healthier.”
“Of course.”
I wanted to tell her I hadn’t had a drop of alcohol that evening. I wanted her to be proud of me, to know that her efforts were making a difference. That her blind faith in me wasn’t for nothing. I wanted to tell her that she was good at her job. But, true to form, I fumbled with the praise.
I sipped—black and strong. Exactly the way I drank it.
“Try it.” She nodded to the dessert.
She was deflecting and that was okay with me. We’d get to it.
She watched me take a bite. As suspected, it was heaven. The woman could cook. And it was then that I realized Roseenjoyed pleasing people through their stomachs. As if I wasn’t attracted to her enough.
A satisfied twinkle in her eye had her sipping her coffee and leaning back in the armchair.
I took another bite, then set it on the coffee table between us.
“Now. Tell me.”
Her hand squeezed around her mug.
I leaned forward, knees on elbows. “Tell me about what happened to you while you were in foster care.”
