I’m working on a phonics game when he pauses behind my chair.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Saving the future,” I reply. “Also teaching them the letter B.”
Jack’s gaze drops to my screen. “Why does that look like a crime scene?”
“It’s a bee worksheet,” I say, offended. “Bees are important.”
“Bees sting.”
“Yes,” I say. “So do you, emotionally.”
Jack lets out a sound that might be a laugh if he wasn’t allergic to joy. He walks away again, and my skin stays warm where his attention lingered.
Later, he returns from a perimeter check and sets something on the table beside me.
A small folding knife.
My eyes widen. “Is that for… apples?”
“It’s for protection,” he says.
I stare at it, then up at him. “Jack?—”
“Don’t,” he says, voice quiet. “Just keep it close.”
My throat tightens. “Okay.”
He watches me for a beat, then reaches over my shoulder and gently adjusts the angle of my chair—turning it slightly so I can see the front door and the windows.
It’s subtle. Practical.
It also makes my heart clench.
“You’re rearranging furniture for safety,” I murmur.
Jack’s gaze meets mine. “Yes.”
I whisper, “You’re intense.”
His eyes darken. “You’re worth it.”
My breath catches so hard I almost forget how to type.
He walks away again like he didn’t just say something that could ruin my life.
I stare at my laptop screen, but the words blur.
You’re worth it.
I don’t know how to be worth that.
EIGHT
STELLA
The next morning, we wake before sunrise.
