“I pulled up your file from Monaghan and Stowe,” he replied, as if that were completely normal.
“Youwhat? That’s confidential.” Her grip tightened on the door, eyes narrowing. “You don’t get to just…pull my file.”
He put both hands up, mock-innocent. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
“Rafael,” she said flatly.
His hands lowered slowly, and the playfulness in his face slipped, like a mask set gently aside. What was left behind wasn’t soft. “I had to check you’re okay. Or if you’re still bleeding.”
Weird pause. Because she wasn’t sure how to respond to his apparently earnest concern.
“I’m handling it,” she said finally, not quite meeting his eyes.
“You sure you’re not just surviving it?”
She didn’t answer. Didn’t know how to, without saying too much. He didn’t push but stood there, watching her. Reading her, as if he could.
Behind her, the pot boiled over, hissing against the stove. She turned to deal with it, and left the door open. Not exactly on purpose, but not by accident, either.
Rafael followed, closing the door behind him. The sound of it clicking shut made awareness lick down her spine.
She drained the noodles, trying to ignore the six-foot-three complication behind her.
Closed door. Night. Alone. Definitely an escalation.
He wasn’t Gage, and he wasn’t a friend. Which made this…a very bad idea.
She moved to the spice rack, choosing her seasonings quickly. She tapped them into the bowl and stirred with one hand while reaching for a fork with the other?—
He was there. Right beside her. Opening the drawer she’d forgotten about. Holding out the chopsticks she’d given up on.
Bea’s eyes dropped to his hand. She could see a faint blue stain in his palm, like ink or paint that hadn’t let go. And then scars, faint but unmistakable, crossing his knuckles like faded warnings.
She wanted to ask:What kind of work leaves marks like that?But stopped herself.
“Thanks,” she said instead.
He didn’t answer. Just nodded, then took the fork from her hand and set it beside the sink, like he’d been here a hundred times before.
Bea carried the bowl to the table and dropped it with a thud, knocking down the novel she’d left open beside her laptop. Rafael’s gaze flicked to the title. She picked it up, tucking it upside down next to her laptop.
She opened her mouth to tell him to go.
He spoke first. “Nico’s improved a lot since you started tutoring him.”
She looked at him sharply. “How do you know that?”
“He told me.” His jaw twitched, like he’d been waiting to say it.
“…You know Nico?”
“I do.” He gave a single nod. “Well.”
Bea went very still, fingers tightening on her chopsticks. “No.”
He didn’t answer, just watched her get there.
“You.” Her jaw tensed, but she didn’t look away. “You’reEl Jefe?”
