But safe wasn't just about locked doors and alarm systems.
And the part of her that he'd already hurt once—the soft, vulnerable part that had wanted daylight and honesty and a place in his life?—
That part wasn't safe at all.
Grace sankdown onto the edge of the couch.
He said he wanted to protect her.
But Luke had said a lot of things before.
She pressed her fingers to her temples.
Don’t be stupid.
Don’t rewrite history just because you want him.
The knock at the door came sharp and unexpected.
Grace’s heart lurched before her brain caught up. She forced herself to breathe and checked the peephole.
A woman stood on the porch—well-dressed, posture straight, silver-streaked hair pinned neatly back.
Luke’s mother.
Grace took a deep breath and opened the door.
“Oh!” The older woman looked surprised. “I wasn’t expecting—I mean, hello.”
Grace needed to explain why she was here. “Mrs. Bennett…”
Mrs. Bennett held out a covered dish. “I may have… uh…overcooked the roast the other night. I thought perhaps Luke would appreciate this one. As an apology.”
Grace took the dish automatically. She felt heat crawl up her neck. The casserole dish was warm in her hands. Heavy. She stood there holding it like a shield between them.
“My house had a break-in,” she blurted. “The locks are being replaced. It’s temporary. Luke insisted it was safer if I stayed somewhere with an alarm system.”
Mrs. Bennett raised an eyebrow.
Grace continued, hating the way her voice sounded too fast, too defensive. “He’s just being thorough. Professional.”
“Grace,” she said gently.
Grace stopped talking.
“I know my son.”
The words weren’t sharp. They didn’t need to be.
“This isn’t procedure,” Mrs. Bennett continued quietly. “Luke does not rearrange his life for procedure.”
Grace swallowed.
“He’s just?—”
“—terrified,” Mrs. Bennett finished calmly.
Grace blinked.
