“Careful,” he says softly.“It’s hot.”
“So am I,” I say automatically, then freeze, horrified.
His brows shoot up.Aunt Dee chokes.The kids giggle like gremlins.
“I...”I cover my face with my free hand.“I meant the coffee.I didn’t...Dear God, can someone set me back on fire?It would be less embarrassing.”
Darren’s laugh is low and wicked and pleased.“Noted,” he says.“And yes.You are.”
I lower my hand slowly.“You’re impossible.”
He winks.“Self-defense lesson after breakfast?”
I blink.“Today?”
“Unless you’re not up to it.”He studies me carefully, not pushing, not assuming, just offering.
Fear and something suspiciously like excitement twist together low in my belly.The idea of learning how to hit back, not just emotionally, not just verbally, but physically, terrifies me in the way jumping into the ocean does.It’s huge, it’s unknown, but maybe it’s freedom too.
“Yeah,” I say before I can overthink it.“Let’s do it.”
He nods once like he just got handed a mission.“We’ll start slow.”
Breakfast is chaos again, but this time I’m part of it instead of watching from the edge.
Jayden demands to know if librarians are allowed to “secretly ban books about broccoli.”Mia wants to braid my hair.Aunt Dee pretends not to see Darren staring at me over his coffee like I’m a puzzle he enjoys solving.
After helping with the dishes, he leads me to the backyard.
The morning air is crisp, and the grass is damp beneath my borrowed sneakers.A faint breeze tugs at my hair.A tall wooden fence encloses the yard in warm, homey privacy.There’s a worn heavy bag hanging from a thick tree branch, a stack of battered training pads, and a folding table with chalk drawings all over it courtesy of the kids.
He turns to face me.
“Okay,” he says, suddenly all focus.“Rule number one.You don’t need permission to take up space.”
My laugh is shaky.“You’re starting with philosophy?”
“I’m starting with the shit in your head,” he says calmly.“Because that’s where he lives right now.And we’re evicting him.”
Something tightens and then loosens in my chest.
“Place your feet shoulder width apart,” he continues, stepping closer, tapping my ankle lightly with his toes to spread my stance.“Knees loose.Weight on the balls of your feet.”
I mimic him, feeling ridiculous and powerful at the same time.
His hands come up, hovering near my hips.“May I?”
The fact that he asks is my undoing.“Yes,” I breathe.
He adjusts my hips gently, barely touching, heat bleeding through the thin fabric of my leggings.My breath stutters.He pretends not to notice, but the bastard can’t quite hide his smile.
“Good,” he murmurs, voice dipping.“Now hands up.Protect your face and keep your chin tucked.”
“I have never punched anything in my life,” I confess.
He grins.“We’re about to change that.You’re going to punch me.”
My head jerks back.“What?No!”
