Which was insane.
Not the pancakes. The pancakes were great. Disrespectfully great, actually, considering the man already had cheekbones, tenure, and the emotional presence of a locked cathedral. Apparently, he also knew how to cook.
Rude.
Henry had told me to make myself at home before disappearing upstairs to shower, which felt deeply unfair since he had not invited me to join him. I was choosing maturity about it.
Barely.
I shifted in place, toes pressing into the warm wood floor, one hand tugging absently at the hem of his shirt. It hung too loose on me, the collar slipping just enough that I kept having to pretend I didn’t like it. The sweats weren’t much better—soft, dark, rolled once at the waist so they wouldn’t slide off my hips.
I’d asked him to take me home after breakfast so I could get dressed for the day.
He’d looked me over once, slow enough to ruin my ability to form arguments.
“I like you in my clothes.”
And honestly?
Couldn’t argue with that.
I’d tried Rhys next, because self-preservation occasionally made a guest appearance in my life.
“I should check in with Rhys.”
“I texted him last night,” Henry said. “He knows you’re here. He knows you’re safe. He wants you to call him on his lunch break.”
My heart had swelled right there in my chest.
He’d thought about it.
Not just me—my life. The people in it. The ones who mattered enough that disappearing would set off alarms.
He’d handled it, and it was a relief.
Realrelief that didn’t come with a catch or a follow-up task or a list of things I still needed to fix. My brain didn’t have to spin, or run through contingencies, or keep ten steps ahead just to stay afloat.
For once, something had been handledfor me.
I could just…be.
Not think about what I was forgetting.
Not wonder who I was letting down.
It felt like a dangerously easy thing to get used to.
The pipes groaned somewhere above me, followed by the steady rush of water kicking on. It brought me back to the moment, and I tipped my head, listening as it evened out into a low, constant hum in the walls.
My hand dragged along the edge of the counter as I moved, fingers brushing over smooth stone as I stepped out of the kitchen and into the rest of the house.
For someone with money, he had shockingly little interest in making it obvious.
I liked it.
Moving through the living room, I slowed without meaning to, eyes catching on the details I hadn’t noticed before—another bookshelf, a chair angled toward the window with a blanket thrown over the arm of it like he actually sat there and stayed for a while.
At the far end of the living room, a set of wooden double doors caught my eye. One of them sat just slightly ajar.
