“You okay?” Emma asked quietly.
He looked up. She was watching him again, but this time her expression read… less curious, more concerned. Like she’d caught the edge of his tension and was trying to identify the source.
Perceptive. Another thing to file away. A variable he couldn’t control.
“Fine.”
“You sure? You look?—”
“I’m fine.”
The words came out harsher than intended. Emma blinked, pulled back slightly, and something in Zach’s chest twisted. But she didn’t push. Just nodded and went back to her dinner, the conversation flowing around them.
Nick and David debated generator placement. Emma listened, sometimes interjecting with questions. The same comfortable rhythm as before.
But Zach couldn’t relax into it anymore.
He’d seen the risk. Recognized the exposure.
This—the four of them around the table, passing dishes while problem-solving, laughing like they were family—was the exact scenario he’d spent twenty years avoiding.
Because families were targets.
And he was already calculating how many ways this could go wrong.
Too many.
Chapter 15
Operational Efficiency
The last ofthe pot roast disappeared with suspicious speed.
Emma watched David scrape his plate with the dedication of someone who’d lived on protein bars and caffeine for too long. Nick leaned back in his chair, relaxed in a way unseen during business hours, while Zach finished his meal with military efficiency.
He rose without comment. She expected him to disappear for a perimeter check or something equally security-conscious, back to work the moment his fork touched down.
Instead, he collected dishes.
She blinked. “You don’t have to?—”
“You cooked.” He gathered Nick’s, then David’s. “I’ll clean.”
A logical decision, not a favor.
Simple. Efficient. Pure Zach.
“That’s division of labor, not chivalry,” David observed from his chair, grinning.
“Operational efficiency,” Zach said, already moving toward the sink.
Emma stood and grabbed the serving dishes. “I'll help.”
He turned on the water, testing the temperature with the back of his hand before adding soap. “Towel’s in the drawer to your left.”
She found it—a clean dish towel folded with military-grade precision. Of course. She stood beside him at the sink, close enough for the heat of his body to warm her own in the narrow galley.
Close enough that she was aware of him—every movement, every shift in space.
