“Both.”
“And I should meet him? Because?”
“Because if you’re staying in Paris …” His voice lowered slightly. “You should know who’s in your corner.”
Something in my chest tightened.
“In my corner,” I echoed.
“Yes.”
“And you are?”
His gaze darkened.
“You already know the answer to that.”
Heat flared between my legs despite the seriousness of the moment.
I stepped away before that energy tipped us back toward the bedroom.
“Lunch,” I said firmly.
“Lunch,” he agreed.
We dressed properly this time. Jeans. Boots. I kept Rose’s sweater on, grounding and protective all at once.
When we stepped out into the hallway, the apartment door clicking shut behind us, something settled inside me.
This wasn’t a visit anymore.
This was the beginning of something.
Outside, Paris hummed with midday life—bicycles, café tables filling, conversations spilling into the street.
Three streets over.
A restaurant Rose had chosen enough times to leave evidence of it in her trash.
I slipped my hand into Kane’s without thinking.
He looked down at it, then back at me.
“You good?” he asked.
“I’m … steady.”
That was the best word for it.
Not healed. Not fine.
But steady.
He squeezed my hand once.
“We’ll eat,” he said. “Then I’ll explain more.”
“About you?”
