Maybe I didn’t just want safe anymore.
Maybe I wanted a man who made me feel protected. Wanted. Claimed in the simplest, most primal way.
And Kane, walking beside me like it was the most natural thing in the world, felt dangerously close to exactly that.
I loved it. Completely.
The thought sent a ripple of heat down my spine.
I caught him glancing at me.
“Something funny?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Just thinking.”
“That usually gets people in trouble.”
“Oh, I’m sure it will.”
His mouth twitched, almost a smile.
Victory.
The café I’d spotted earlier came into view—small, corner spot, locals filtering in and out. We stepped inside, warmth wrapping around us along with the smell of coffee and fresh pastries.
We ordered at the counter—him in simple, accented French, efficient and direct. Me in careful phrases that made the barista switch to English out of mercy.
We took a small table near the window.
For a second, neither of us spoke.
The silence wasn’t awkward.
It felt … charged.
“So,” he said finally, leaning back slightly. “Manhattan.”
“Born and raised.”
“Still live there?”
“I did. Until …” I tapped the folder. “This.”
His gaze softened almost imperceptibly. “Your sister.”
“Yeah.”
He studied me, expression unreadable. “You okay?”
The question was simple. Direct.
And somehow that made it harder to answer.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Ask me again in a month.”
He nodded, accepting that without trying to fix it.
Hank would have tried to fix it. Offer solutions. Emotional logistics. Practical reassurances.
