"Usually I work. But today..." He gives me a look that sends renewed heat through me. "I thought we might get to know each other better."
"Haven't we already done that rather thoroughly?" I tease.
"Not that kind of knowing." He plates the food with efficient movements. "I want to know about you. Your life before this arrangement."
The request surprises me. "Why? This is temporary, remember?"
Something flickers across his features. "Still. We're living together, sleeping together. Seems reasonable to know more than just how to make each other come."
Put that way, it's hard to argue. "Fair enough. What do you want to know?"
We settle at the dining table, food and coffee between us. For a moment, I'm struck by how normal this feels. How comfortable. As if we've been having breakfast together for years rather than days.
"Tell me about your father." He sips his coffee, watching me over the rim. "You mentioned he was military."
"Army. Career officer." I smile at the memories. "He was strict but fair. After my mom died when I was sixteen, it was just the two of us. He had to figure out how to raise a teenage daughter alone."
"That couldn't have been easy."
"It wasn't. For either of us." I push eggs around my plate. "But he tried. Made sure I could take care of myself, practically and financially. Insisted on college, even when I wanted to enlist like him."
"Smart man."
"He was." The familiar ache of loss has softened over time, but never disappears completely. "He would have hated Marc. Probably would have liked you, though."
Dario raises an eyebrow. "Why's that?"
"You're straightforward. No bullshit. Dad always said you can trust a person who tells you hard truths to your face." I meet his gaze directly. "You do that."
He nods, accepting the assessment. "My father was similar in some ways. Believed in honesty above politeness."
"Tell me about him." I find myself genuinely curious about the man who shaped Dario.
"Logger. Worked these mountains his whole life." His expression softens slightly with memory. "Taught me everything about woodworking, about respecting the land. When he died, this property became my responsibility."
"Is that when you got out of the Marines?"
"No, I'd already completed my service by then. Was working with a private security firm." He refills our coffee cups. "Came back here to settle his affairs, ended up staying."
"Do you miss it? The military?"
He considers this. "Parts of it. The structure. The clarity of purpose. The brotherhood." His eyes find mine. "But I've found other ways to channel those needs."
I take that as an implication that his dominant tendencies might connect to his military past. Not a cliché—he's too complex for that—but a thread in the tapestry of who he is.
"What about you?" he asks. "You mentioned you were engaged to Marc. Any relationships before him?"
"A few. Nothing serious until him." I wrap my hands around my coffee mug. "I was always focused on my career, building my reputation in my field. Relationships were secondary."
"Until Marc."
"Until Marc." I sigh. "Classic mistake. Fell for the charm, the promises, the lifestyle he represented. Should have seen the red flags."
"Like what?" His interest seems genuine rather than voyeuristic.
"Controlling behaviors disguised as care. Isolation from friends who 'weren't good enough' for us. Financial manipulation." The list feels pathetic when I say it out loud. "All the classics."
"You got out." Dario's voice holds no judgment. "That takes courage."
