But here in the cottage that’s been my sanctuary since childhood, looking at this stranger, I feel more awake than I have in years. This isn’t how I should feel—safe, curious, even drawn. But every instinct I’ve been taught to obey is colliding with something deeper, something my body insists is true.
"So," I say, pushing myself to my feet on still-shaky legs. "Tea first, then explanations?"
Draco looks at me for a long moment, and I can see him trying to figure out what kind of person I am. Someone who calls the police at the first sign of trouble, or someone who might be willing to take a risk on a stranger who needs safe harbor.
"Tea sounds good," he says finally. His expression shifts—something almost like regret. "But once I explain… you might decide calling the police is the smarter choice after all."
"Maybe," I say. My voice wavers despite my best efforts. "But I want to understand first."
He studies me for a long moment, then nods once. "Okay."
For the first time since I saw him in the shadows, Draco smiles—a real smile that reshapes his whole face. The tension melts from his features, revealing a warmth so unexpectedly beautiful it punches the air from my lungs. He shouldn’t be allowed to look like that—dangerous and gorgeous in the same breath.
"Then let’s make some tea," he says. "And I’ll tell you how a guy like me ends up living in a fairy tale cottage."
As I move toward the tiny kitchen, my hands steadier than they have any right to be, I realize something has shifted fundamentally in my world.
When I brush past him, my sleeve grazes his arm. Heat sparks against my skin, searing through fabric, and I pretend not to notice—but the awareness lingers, a live wire under my skin, as I busy myself with the kettle. The thought comes unbidden and unwelcome: I should be terrified. So why does his presence feel less like danger and more like… something else entirely?
I push the thought away. One thing at a time. Tea first. Then answers. Then I'll figure out why I'm not running. I slide my hand into my pocket, reassuring myself that I still have the pepper spray close at hand.
For twenty-five years, I’ve lived according to other people’s rules and expectations. But standing here with this careful, enigmatic stranger in the middle of the night, I feel as though I’m standing on a precipice with one foot on solid ground and the other hanging over a steep cliff.
And for the first time, I’m not entirely sure which side I want to choose.
Chapter Five
Draco
The tea tastes like liquid gold—rich, complex, probably worth more per ounce than I made busking yesterday. Charity sits cross-legged in the window seat, cradling her mug like it’s a shield between us, and I can’t shake the feeling that I’m watching some elaborate performance.
Nobody is this trusting. Nobody finds a stranger living in their private sanctuary and responds by making him gourmet tea. There has to be a catch—cameras recording this for some social media stunt, security waiting outside for her signal, something.
But the cottage feels empty except for us, and her hands shake just slightly when she lifts her mug. Real nerves, not performed ones.
"So," she says, then stops, staring into her teacup like it might tell her what question to ask first.
I lean against the kitchen counter, maintaining distance, the coin rolling steadily across my knuckles. Old habits. Keep the hands busy, stay ready to run, never fully relax, no matter how safe things seem.
"You’re wondering what kind of person I am," I say when the silence stretches too long. "Whether I’m dangerous, whether you’re making a huge mistake right now."
Her gaze snaps to mine, blue as open sky. "Are you a mind reader too?"
"Too?"
A blush creeps up her neck. "I mean, along with being… whatever you are."
I can’t help but smile at that. "Street performer. That’s what I am. Magic tricks, sleight of hand." The coin vanishes from my fingers and reappears behind her ear—a basic trick, but she gasps like I just levitated the cottage.
"How did you—" She reaches up to touch the spot where the coin appeared, and her fingertips brush mine as I pull my hand away.
Electric shock, straight through my nervous system. From one innocent touch.
Shit.
I step back quickly, dropping the coin into my palm. "Practice," I say, voice rougher than it should be. "Lots of practice."
She’s still staring at me with that wonder, like I’m actually magical instead of just a guy with good hand-eye coordination and trust issues.
