He didn’t push. That was just how Solomon was. He just poured his own coffee and settled against the counter beside me.
We stood there in silence. Then laughter drifted down from the upstairs hallway.
My hand stilled on the mug.
Mira descended the stairs with Percy at her side, the two of them mid-argument. She wore a soft sweater she’d picked out herself, the neckline slipping off one shoulder to expose the curve of her shoulder blade.
Bare skin.The exact spot where I’d dragged my teeth in the memory that wouldn’t release me.
My grip tightened on the ceramic until it creaked.
“Blueberries?” Percy gestured expansively as they reached the landing. “I make a mean blueberry pancake. Life-changing, actually.”
“You burn toast too.” She swatted his arm when he tried to mess with her hair. “Forgive me if I’m skeptical.”
“Hey, my cooking skills have been steadily improving. Give me more credit.”
She laughed. Not the guarded almost-smiles since the fire, but an actual laugh. Warm and unguarded and directed at Percy while I stood white-knuckling a coffee mug, remembering how that laugh sounded against my throat.
Fucking hell.
Solomon moved before I could. He intercepted her at the kitchen doorway, a fresh mug already in his hand, and pressed it into her grip.
“The site’s been cleared,” he said. “Investigation closed out yesterday.”
Her attention shifted to him immediately. “My shop?”
“If you want to see it, I can take you. The foundation work is underway.”
Gratitude softened her expression. That look she gave him, open and trusting, carved my ribs raw. She used to look at me that way.
Mira murmured her thanks and turned toward her usual stool. The path brought her directly past me. Her arm brushed mine.
The contact was brief, accidental. It shouldn’t have mattered.
But her scent flooded my lungs. My whole body went rigid. The mug in my hand could have shattered and I wouldn’t have noticed.
She paused, tilting her face up.
“Good morning, Lucian.” A small smile played at the corner of her mouth. Tentative, testing.
I didn’t answer. My jaw was locked, every muscle wound tight with the effort of not reaching for her. Not fisting my hand in her hair or dragging her against me and kissing her until she remembered exactly what we were to each other.
The smile faltered slightly. She searched my face, trying to read what she couldn’t name.
Then she moved past me. Slid onto her stool. She lifted the mug to her lips and watched me over the rim while she drank.
Those mismatched eyes held mine. The faintest hint of challenge buried beneath the caution.
Percy was talking about batter. Solomon had moved toward the stove. The morning unfolded around us, mundane and ordinary.
I didn’t look away.
Neither did she.
One way or another, she was going to remember what we had.
And if the memories wouldn’t come back on their own, I’d give her new ones to replace them.
