“Like the dead.” I moved to the counter where a French press sat next to a row of mugs. “Is this up for grabs?”
“Please, help yourself.”
The kitchen had modern appliances, but the walls were mostly stone, with wooden beams overhead and windowsoverlooking a garden gone wild. It was warm and cozy from the heat of whatever he had in the oven. I started the kettle and set up the French press while Jean served the eggs onto a large plate and set out a basket of croissants on the table.
He sat next to Garrett and spooned eggs onto his own plate. “I spent some more time with the letter this morning.”
I poured my coffee and took the seat opposite Garrett, who still wasn’t looking at me. “Anything new?”
“I’m afraid not. The smudged portions are simply too degraded.”
“And your friend?” Garrett asked.
“He’s a colleague.” Jean reached for a croissant. “But no, I’ve not heard from him yet. I’m sure he’ll call when he can. He travels quite a lot, and I don’t know what time zone he’s in now.”
I ate my eggs and let the conversation drift. Jean talked about his garden, about the neighbor’s goats that kept escaping into his yard, and about an authentication project he’d finished last month. Garrett contributed single-word responses when directly addressed. I contributed slightly longer ones.
But my mind kept drifting to my bed this morning. To my dream and the fantasy that Garrett hadn’t pulled away last night. Heat was absolutely climbing up my cheeks, but I couldn’t stop myself. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Frowny was sitting so close to me that if I moved my foot too far, it would rub against his.
A wave of heat flashed through me.
Stop it, Grace.
I sipped my coffee, doing my best to focus on Jean.
However, our host finished his breakfast far too quickly and stood, taking his plate to the sink. “I should check my messages. Please make yourselves at home.”
He disappeared into his sunroom-turned-workshop.
I got up and moved to the counter. There was a hand grinder for the coffee beans next to the French press, and a bag of beansbeside it. I didn’t need more coffee. But I needed to occupy my hands.
“About last night,” Garrett finally said.
Yeah, about last night. I kept my back to him, adjusted the grinder settings, and spooned in some beans.
“I wanted to apologize.” His tone was flat and factual, the words coming as though he were measuring every one. “I was unprofessional. I crossed a line I shouldn’t have.”
The grinder’s handle was smooth wood, worn from years of use. I began cranking, and the beans crackled and popped as the burrs found them. “I kissed you first.”
“It doesn’t matter who started it. I should have stopped it.” He took a deep breath. “It’s common to misinterpret intense emotions during dangerous situations. Adrenaline, proximity, fear. The brain confuses chemicals for connection.”
I stopped grinding and turned to face him. “Is that how your protection details normally work?”
He finally looked at me. A real look, not the one-second glance from when I’d walked in. It had been so dark last night, I’d barely been able to see him. But today, the sun was shining through the windows, and every bit of him was on display. His short black hair and beard, the dark eyes, his black T-shirt and jeans. And the exhaustion under his eyes.
I did my best to keep my voice light and curious, as though the kiss didn’t mean anything. “Does adrenaline often make your clients think they have feelings for you?”
His jaw tightened. “Yes.”
“Really?” Was that all this was?
“Yes.” He averted his eyes. “It happens. It’s a well-documented phenomenon. Proximity plus danger creates false intimacy. I’ve seen it before.”
Truth or lie, Galahad?
He was avoiding my gaze, which let me study him in a way I usually couldn’t. The rigid line of his shoulders. The muscles straining in his neck. The ink visible from below his sleeves.
Maybe it was the truth, and it happened sometimes. Maybe some clients mistook fear for attraction. But was that what this was? I didn’twantto think so. His whole body had leaned into mine before his brain caught up, and none of that had felt like some fake phenomenon.
