Page 159 of Safe Word

His lips curved into a smile again. ‘I’ve got some notes stashed in the drawer over there,’ he said, nodding towards one of the shelves next to the window.

I abandoned the breakfast, curiosity already burning a hole in me.

Crossing the kitchen, I opened the drawer he’d motioned to and pulled out a neatly stacked pile of papers, and a worn notebook. Cain moved with his coffee mug towards the huge U-shaped sofa and plopped down, clicking a remote until the window walls darkened to prevent the sunlight from suffocating us. The AC blared gently in the corner.

I flipped through the papers, the handwriting elegant, almost intimate in its precision. Among the notes and sketches were pieces of what had to be a story – a few vivid descriptions, fragments of dialogue, and paragraphs that read as if they were pulled from an ancient saga.

‘This is…’ I trailed off, glancing at him. ‘Intriguing, indeed.’ The details, the stark intensity of his words – it felt like stepping into a time long past. Yet, as I flipped through the pages, a quiet scepticism tugged at the corners of the idea. For all its brilliance, there was something… missing.

Cain didn’t say anything. The shadows that spilt into space only seemed to emphasize his presence and chisel the lines of his face.

‘So what do you think?’ he asked warily as if he could read the unease straight off me.

‘It’s all fascinating,’ I said honestly, running my fingers along the edge of a page. ‘But…’

His brow arched slightly, curiosity sparking in his eyes. ‘But?’

I hesitated, glancing down at the notes again before looking back at him.

I chewed on my lip, trying to find the right words. ‘A historical novel is a big chunk to devour. You need vetted facts, evidence. And honestly,’ I sighed, ‘I wouldn’t even know where to begin with something like this.’

‘Then maybe you should stick around,’ he said, his tone teasing but his eyes held a deeper meaning. ‘Help me figure it out.’

My turn to lift a brow. ‘So, you’re offering me a co-writing credit now?’

‘I’m saying… sleep on it. I wouldn’t mind hearing more of your thoughts. We don’t have to decide yet.’

His gaze lingered on me for a moment longer, the air between us shifting, growing heavier again.

Cain worried his bottom lip, the faintest hint of guilt touching his face.

‘I have a confession,’ he said, low enough to set off a quiet alarm in my chest.

He let two breaths pass between us – as if bracing.

‘I kind of… asked Vinnie to hire a private investigator. To dig up some info on you.’

I narrowed my eyes, the instinctive flare of suspicion climbing my spine. My mind scrambled for explanations that didn’t make my chest feel tight.

‘It was a few days ago,’ he added quickly. ‘He didn’t get back to me on it.’

I set the stack of papers down onto the glass coffee table. Then sank onto the armrest of the couch opposite him, arms loosely crossed.

I wasn’t angry. Not exactly. And I understood why an employer would do this – but… was it done in the spirit of employment? There had been enough shit in my life that could be misread, twisted and weaponised.

‘What do you want to know?’ I asked tightly.

He shrugged, half-cautious. ‘Well, you told me about—’

I cut him off with a brisk nod, the motion slicing the words clean from his lips as I glanced at my bare feet. I didn’t want to drag it all back up. Not today.

It had been a long time since I’d talked about my family in any kind of casual way. The very thought felt like trying on clothes that no longer fit.

Still, a whisper of guilt wound through me. I’d been so consumed with my own damage, my own predictions of doom, I hadn’t even thought to check on my brothers. To see what was going on in their lives.

‘My brother Matteo is the oldest,’ I started. ‘He took over Dad’s workshop straight after high school. Still has it – expanded it. He was in the Marines for a while, too. Leo helped manage the place.’

Cain gave a slow nod.