He nods once, civil. “She’s inside.”
I don’t thank him. I don’t need to. I get the message he’s sending. I’m not backing down. You want her? Earn her.
He steps aside without another word, disappearing down the path.
I push open the door.
Only a single lamp on the far nightstand is lit softly, enveloping the room in a soft ambiance of warm light. Lyla is at the bathroom mirror, face half turned away, working a brush through her hair with the focused energy of someone who heard the door and decided not to acknowledge it.
I close the door behind me. The latch clicks like a starting gun as she continues brushing.
I pull off my watch and set it on the dresser. The silence between us is filled with tension—and not the kind we’d found in the bungalow the night before. This is loaded, deadly. I run back through the evening trying to locate the source of it and come up empty.
I try to make small talk first. “How was your night?”
“Fine.”
One harsh-sounding word.
This doesn’t look good.
“You left the debrief fast.”
“I was tired.”
No, she wasn’t.
She’s been tired the way people are tired when they don’t want to be in the same room as you. With Lyla, I know when I’m on the receiving end of that specific kind of tired.
I lean against the doorframe of the bathroom, arms loose at my sides. She doesn’t look up.
“Little one.”
“I’m getting ready for bed, Scott.”
“I can see that.” I keep my voice even. “I can tell something’s off. So let’s not pretend this elephant in the room isn’t here.”
She sets the brush down on the counter with a quiet click. Picking up her moisturizer, she opens it and takes her time with the cap.
“Nothing’s off,” she says to the mirror. “It was a long day.”
“It was.” I watch her hands move, methodical, unhurried. “And now you won’t look at me.”
At my words, her hands slow for a fraction of a second before resuming.
“I’m looking at myself,” she says. “Some of us have a skincare routine.”
“Talk to me, little one,” I speak softly. “Whatever it is.”
For a moment, she meets my eyes in the mirror finally.
“How was your date?”
“It was fine,” I reply. “Dinner. Conversation. Nothing worth reporting.”
“Mmm.” She goes back to the mirror. “Funny. Valerie didn’t look like a woman who had a forgettable evening.”
“What did Valerie say?”
