I nod my thanks as Lana says, “Everything sounds amazing,” while studying the menu. “What do you recommend?”
“Connor told me the duck confit is their specialty,” I tell her. “Though Mia swears by the maple-glazed salmon, she says it’s exceptional.”
Sadie arrives to take our order—duck for me, salmon for her. When she leaves, we fall into easy conversation as we sip our wine. The stress of the day seems to melt away in this cozy corner, replaced by something lighter, more hopeful.
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” I say after our appetizers arrive, “what made you decide to dye your hair pink? Don’t get me wrong, I love it, and it’s stunning on you.”
She laughs, touching a strand self-consciously. “It was actually an accident. I bought auburn dye, but unbeknownst to me, it had expired. This was the result.” She tilts her head, studying me. “You really do like it?”
“I do,” I answer honestly. “It suits you. Makes you look sexy.”
I clear my throat, shocked at my boldness, while a blush colors her cheeks, visible even in the dim light. “That’s a nice way of describing it. Kori says I look like cotton candy.”
“Kori doesn’t see you the way I do,” I say before I can stop myself.
Her eyes meet mine across the candle flame, something unspoken passing between us. “And how do you see me, Caleb?”
The question hangs between us, loaded with potential. I take a sip of wine, buying time to find the right words.
“I see someone who’s been running,” I say finally. “Someone brave enough to face danger but scared of something else entirely. Someone who cares deeply but tries not to show it.” I pause, searching her face. “I see someone I want to know better, if she’ll let me.”
Lana’s expression softens, vulnerability flashing across her features before she can mask it. “You’re very perceptive.”
“Professional hazard,” I reply with a small smile. “Reading people kept me alive for a long time.”
“And what does your professional assessment tell you about my chances of stopping all that running?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
I reach across the table, taking her hand in mine. Her skin is soft, her fingers slender. “I think you already have. We’re here, aren’t we?”
Our main courses arrive, momentarily breaking the intensity between us. The food is exceptional, as promised, but I find myself more focused on her—the way she closes her eyes briefly when tasting something delicious, the elegant movement of herhands as she speaks, the light that dances in her eyes when she laughs at something I say.
As we share a chocolate soufflé for dessert, I finally ask the question that’s been nagging at me. “What happened in your life that gives you nightmares? You mentioned they come and go. They seem... intense.”
Her spoon pauses halfway to her mouth, and I immediately regret bringing it up. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
“No, it’s okay,” she says, setting down her spoon. “You spent half the night sitting up with me. You deserve to know.” She takes a deep breath. “About a year ago, I was... attacked. By my sister’s husband.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. “Kori’s husband?”
She nods, her eyes downcast. “I used to work for Mark. A couple of years after they were married, he started hitting on me. I ignored him, of course, but then he started to threaten my job. He blackmailed me into sleeping with him. When Kori found out, she fled to Ireland. That’s where she and Kane met, on the plane ride over. Anyway, when I told him I was going to tell Kori the truth as to what happened, he beat me.”
I feel my body go rigid, a cold fury building inside me. “He beat you?” My voice comes out low, controlled, but inside I’m anything but calm.
“I refused to go to the hospital and instead called Kori,” she continues, her voice steady despite the pain I can see in her eyes. “Three broken ribs, fractured cheekbone, concussion.”
“The worst part was that Kori blamed me at first,” she admits quietly. “She thought I’d seduced her husband. It took months for her to learn the truth, to see the evidence.”
“And now?” I ask, studying her face in the firelight.
I watch her smile fade into something softer. “Now we’re rebuilding. Sisters again,” Lana says, her voice light. She pauses, then adds, “She’s the one who convinced me to stop running. To give this place—and people—a chance.”
I nod. “Remind me to thank her.” I can’t help the warmth that spreads through me when she laughs.
“What happened to her ex?” Her smile falters the moment the question leaves my lips.
“Dead,” she answers quietly. “His body washed up in the Toronto harbor a few months later.”
A cold knot tightens in my gut. I feel the old soldier’s instincts flare—precision, purpose, rage. Leaning closer so only she can hear, I murmur, “Good. Because if he weren’t already dead, I’d hunt him down and kill him myself.”
