Knocking on the front door wasn’t reckless.
It was personal.
And that made it dangerous in a different way.
John was the same as Titus remembered. A few more lines in his face, sure—but the smile that reached his eyes when they were shown inside looked genuine.
His gaze went straight to the ring on Titus’s finger.
Titus didn’t miss the way it shifted something in him—warmth edged with sudden interest.
“My fiancé,” Titus said easily. “I left him in the car.” He shrugged like it was nothing, like it happened all the time.
John’s brows lifted. “Then call him inside.”
Titus made a brief call. Moments later, Viper stepped through the front door.
“I didn’t mind waiting in the car,” Viper said mildly, as if the choice had always been his.
“Nonsense!” John laughed, already steering them away from the large study and into a smaller room off the entryway. “Any friend of Titus is a friend of mine.”
He waved Viper in like he belonged there, talking fast now—favors, services, anything he might ever need. The words came easy, but the gesture felt just a little too practiced.
“Stay for breakfast,” John added as they followed him, like the decision had already been made.
“Thank you,” Viper said smoothly. “We’d love to.”
Titus almost jolted when the man laced their fingers together and lifted his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.
He drew the line when Viper leaned in to kiss his fingers, stopping him with a subtle flex of his hand—a quiet warning.
Viper only grinned.
A goddamn sexy-as-sin grin that flashed silk sheets and sweaty nights through Titus’s head like heat off a match.
John laughed like he’d witnessed something harmless and sweet, then settled back into his armchair.
“Melody should have the food ready in fifteen,” he said. “Sit down, both of you.”
Titus sat with Viper beside him. Coffee arrived a moment later, the scent rich and familiar, and they sipped while John talked about the house—how long he’d had it, the work he’d put into it, the way the walls held history.
To Titus, the place felt a little shabby—like it hadn’t been cared for the way it should’ve been over the years—but he didn’t comment.
“I’m sorry about Shelly,” Titus offered. “I was out of the country. I couldn’t make it back for her funeral.”
“She would have understood,” John said, fondness softening his voice. “You know how she was.”
“Yes.” Titus’s mouth curved faintly. “I do.”
They were still reminiscing when Melody called from the hall that breakfast was ready.
“I’m going to sell this place,” John said as he took the seat across from Titus and Viper in the large dining room.
“I’m surprised you haven’t already,” Titus said.
Something strange flickered across John’s face—gone too fast to catch, but real enough to scrape at Titus’s instincts.
“You’ve lived here a long time,” Titus said, lifting his coffee again, watching John over the rim.
