Claire crosses into the living room, crouching down to Hannah’s level. “Well, Hannah, I hope you’re hungry. I made fresh cookies this morning. Plenty to share.”
Hannah's eyes go wide. She tugs on my shirt. “Mommy! Did you hear? Cookies!”
I can’t help but smile. “That sounds wonderful, baby. But only after lunch,” I add, glancing at Claire.
She nods, understanding immediately. “Of course.”
Claire stands, giving both Nikolai and me a gentle smile. “I’ll leave you to get settled. If you need anything at all, just ask. It’s nice having people in the house again.”
She returns to the kitchen, and I feel some of the tension in my shoulders ease. Claire’s presence surprised me, but there’s something comforting about her. Something that resembles normal.
“I like her,” Hannah announces, already running off to explore with Mr. Brummy tucked under her arm.
And then it’s just Nikolai and me.
The air between us feels immediately heavier without Hannah as a buffer. He’s watching me, and I can feel the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on the space between us.
I keep my expression neutral, but my heart won’t stop racing. Four years haven’t changed this. Whatever existed between us—that pull, that electricity—it’s still there. Waiting to explode.
Part of me wishes it wasn’t. It would make everything so much simpler.
But another part of me—the part that spent four years grieving him, that’s been numb for so long—feels something close to relief that it’s still there at all.
I look away before he can see too much in my eyes.
This isn’t about what I want. It can’t be.
Hannah is exploring her new temporary home, finally smiling again after last night’s terror. That’s what matters.
Not the way my pulse quickens when Nikolai’s too close.
Not the part of me that still remembers what it felt like to be his.
I manage a small nod. “Thank you. For all of this.”
He shifts his weight, arms crossing over his chest. “It’s the least I could do.”
Our eyes meet and hold. I should move. Walk to the kitchen, talk to Claire, check on Hannah. But I can’t seem to make my feet cooperate.
When I look at him—really look—I see more than just the man who disappeared four years ago. There’s something different now. Something in the set of his shoulders, the tension that never quite leaves his jaw.
He’s been carrying his own weight all this time.
The thought catches me off guard.
I want to stay angry. It would be simpler that way. Anger is clean, straightforward. It doesn’t require me to acknowledge that he gave up everything to keep us safe. That he’s doing it again now, putting himself between us and Aslanov without hesitation.
That he’s been alone for four years too.
But anger is easier than the complex emotions I have. Easier than admitting I’m terrified of what’s next. Easier than facing the fact that now that he’s back, I could lose him all over again—this time for real.
I don’t know if I’d survive that.
“I should check on Hannah,” I say finally, breaking the silence before it becomes something else.
He nods, stepping aside to let me pass.
I don’t trust myself around him. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
