Jace takes a slow sip of his coffee, thumb tapping once over his phone before he shoves it back into his pocket.
The bell over the door chimes again, and when I look up, I find Kirill towering in with Lev tucked at his side, one big hand settled on his son’s shoulder, the other loose at his thigh.
I wonder why they’re here today. They only ever come on Mondays.
I give Kirill a small smile, but he doesn’t return it. He doesn’t even glance my way. His gaze is trained on Jace’s back like it’s personally offended him.
Confusion flickers through me right as Kirill reaches the counter and Jace turns. The second their eyes meet, something ugly sparks to life between them. The dislike is so palpable, it rattles through my bones.
Kirill’s jaw shifts, a muscle jumping in his neck. “Whitlock.”
The way he says that, it’s as though the man’snameinsulted him.
Kirill’s gaze narrows. “It’s been a while since we’ve seen you here. What brings you by?”
“I must’ve missed you.” Jace doesn’t bother to hide the sarcasm.
Kirill’s mouth curls into something that isn’t a smile. “Say hello to your father. It’s been too long since we’ve seen him too.”
A scoff is Jace’s answer. “I’ll send my regards.”
“You do that.” Kirill holds his stare, refusing to cut away at the growing tension. “I’ll see you around.”
Jace pivots away like he’s done, but Kirill calls after him before he can take another step.
“Remind your father that respect is a two-way street.”
“Be careful.” Jace turns back, closing the distance. “I might take that as a threat.”
“Good.” Kirill’s grin widens, like he’s enjoying every second of whatever this is.
My skin grows cold. I’ve never seen him this way.
Jace’s mouth tightens, and his expression turns lethal.
What in the world is happening? Why do they hate each other so much? It’s as though I’m standing too close to a bomb one of them is about to detonate.
Mandy leans in, whispering, “I don’t know what’s going on with those two, but I, for one, would pay to see them fight. Shirtless.”
“Mandy,” I hiss, elbowing her.
Lev’s attention flicks between the men, his brows pulling inward. He knows something is wrong, and the last thing I want is for this sweet baby to be upset.
“Hey.” I step forward, putting myself in front of Kirill before this gets any worse. “Come on. Let’s get you boys to your booth.”
Kirill doesn’t pay me any mind at first, and when Lev shifts and grows more tense, I slip my hand to Kirill’s.
His reaction is immediate. Those intense eyes drop to where my fingers brush his skin, then lift to my face, sharp andsearching. Heat warms my cheeks, and the way he looks at me—like I’m all he sees—pulls something tight inside me.
We stay that way, ignoring the chime of the door, the people whispering. It’s just him and me, lost in this bubble. My throat dries, lips parting. Then my brain catches up and starts screaming.
What am I doing? Why does it feel like I want to keep doing it? And what if I’ve crossed a line I can’t uncross?
I try to slip my hand away, like I can pretend it never happened. But the second I do, he holds me tighter, refusing to let go, and I don’t want him to. I want him to hold me forever because I like the way it feels. The wayhefeels.
When Lev tugs on his shirt, Kirill looks down at him, but his hand still remains firmly in mine. And no matter how much I scold myself for jumping headfirst into this fantasy of us, I can’t seem to stop imagining it.
“Okay,” Kirill tells his son. “We will go eat.”
