Of course it’s Alec.
He’s settled on a high-end outdoor sofa.It’s one of those expensive pieces that can handle rain, sun, and any kind of mood.The cushions are thick and pale, and he looks like he belongs on them without trying.His posture is unselfconscious, legs stretched out, shoulders broad beneath a knit sweater that looks warm, textured, and expensive without bragging about it.
This time, I let myself really look at him.Not like earlier, when Mila’s blunt commentary made me want to dissolve into the ivory floors.That moment was mortifying in ways I’m still recovering from.
Now, though, with the balcony dim and quiet, I take him in properly.Alec’s hair is tousled, sun-touched at the tips, arranged by restless hands rather than any attempt at grooming.A few pieces fall near his forehead, softening the otherwise rugged lines of his face.His jaw carries an uneven scruff that outlines his features instead of hiding them, giving him an edge he probably doesn’t even think about.
His nose is strong, purposeful, and his mouth looks unused to smiling—even though there’s something about its shape that suggests it once knew how.And then there are the faint lines near his eyes, the ones formed by long nights, long years, and experiences he clearly has no intention of sharing with anyone.
Attractive isn’t the right word.
He’s ...magnetic in a quiet, reluctant way.
His fingers stop mid-chord.He goes still, as if he didn’t expect to be witnessed.Then, slowly—cautiously—he lifts his head.
His eyes meet mine.
They’re dark, quietly intense, with a depth that feels like he’s watching from somewhere far inside himself.And for one long beat, I forget how to breathe.It’s been five years since I looked at another man this way.Five years since anything inside me responded.And I hate that my body is the first traitor, responding before logic can intervene.
I narrow my eyes, trying to chase the feeling away.“So, you’re a musician?”
A faint twitch pulls at the corner of his mouth—almost a smirk, but too restrained.He shrugs.“Something like that.”
“‘Something like that’ sounds like bullshit.”I gesture at the guitar.“So you play for fun, or because it makes people think there’s a depth to you?”
He lets out a huff that’s almost a laugh but doesn’t quite make it.“I do it because my drums don’t fit out here.”He nods toward the second story.“The place is soundproof.You’ll never have to deal with that—and there’s certainly no depth.More like anger?”
“You play drums?”I point at the guitar again.“So you are a musician.”
His patience evaporates.“Does it matter?”
“It does since I’m supposed to give you emotional guidance,” I say.
That does it.His whole expression shifts—tightens—his jaw flexing before he snaps, “You don’t have to give me shit.”
“My aunt would like to differ,” I reply, matching his tone.
He turns entirely toward me now, eyes narrowing with challenge.“Did your aunt tell you that children aren’t allowed in this building?”
I fold my arms, pulse rising.“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you and your daughter have to move out.”
For a second, the words don’t register.Then they do, sinking in with an unpleasant chill I refuse to show.
I inhale slowly, gathering myself.“Well, technically,” I say, keeping my gaze locked on his, “I own half of this building now.So, no—she stays.”The truth is my entire life feels like a temporary arrangement, held together with hope and whatever project comes next.Now it’s hope and paperwork, but I’m not letting this man steamroll me.“Why aren’t children allowed?Do you have something against them?”
“We’re better without each other,” he mutters, as if he genuinely believes adults—or him—and children should remain on opposite sides of the planet.
My breath leaves me in an irritated exhale.“I see.”
“I’m not broken,” he says abruptly.“Though like any human, I have my defects.”
That catches me off guard.I blink.“I never assumed you were broken.”
He studies me, eyes narrowing slightly.“Your child ...Minnie was it?”He squints, brow creasing as he searches for the name.“My apologies if I didn’t remember the name right.”
“Mila,” I correct gently.“Her name is Mila.And she was concerned because you seemed frazzled.”
