He watched me for a moment, like he was deciding how much to say.
“I have a place there,” he said.
“In Charleston?”
“Yes.”
I blinked. “Since when?”
“For a while.”
“That’s vague.”
He shrugged.
My mouth tightened slightly. “Why Charleston?”
His gaze held mine.
“Because it’s a useful place to be.”
That answer wasn’t enough.
“You don’t do anything without a reason,” I said. “And you don’t place yourself somewhere without purpose.”
“No.”
“Then what’s the purpose?”
His hand moved again, sliding slowly up my back, fingers settling just below my shoulder blades.
Grounding.
Always grounding.
“You are,” he said.
The words landed softly.
But they hit harder than anything else he’d said tonight.
I stared at him.
“That’s not an explanation.”
“It’s the truth.”
My pulse picked up, a mix of something sharp and something I didn’t want to name yet.
“You had that place before me,” I pointed out.
“Yes.”
“Then I wasn’t the reason.”
“No.”
Frustration flickered. “Then don’t make it sound like I am.”
