Page 134 of Anton

“I love you, Anton Marinov.”

His next breath falters, and the look in his eyes reveals the lost little boy still buried inside him, the one who spent his life wanting to be loved without believing he ever could be. But I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere.

His mouth lowers toward mine, raising the hairs along the back of my neck. When I test the waters and brush my lips with his, he pulls my body in even closer.

What is he so afraid of? How does a kiss change anything in his mind?

“Excuse me?”

The voice startles us both, and his arm falls away as I turn toward the older woman standing on the porch of the house I planned to visit next. One hand remains perched against the open door as she takes us both in, then focuses on me. Her brows snap with the faintest hint of something—maybe recognition—sending my stomach plummeting.

“Are you looking for the Hales?”

My heart slams against my ribs. “Yes, we are. Did you know them?”

The woman studies me, her silver-white hair pinned loosely at the back of her head. “Sure did. Well, come on over here, sweetheart. No sense hollering across the yard.”

Anton places a palm on the small of my back as we cross the patchy strip of grass between the houses, and the woman’s attention lands on him, lingering on the tattoos at his throat before her smile returns, a little more cautious this time.

“Would you two like to come in for some iced tea? It’s too hot to stand out here.”

“No, thank you,” Anton says, his tone rough.

My elbow catches him lightly in the side. “Of course. We would love to come in.”

His eyes cut to mine, and I give him a look right back.

The woman’s smile warms. “I’m June. June Holloway. Come in, come in.”

“Thora,” I say, then hesitate because that’s not really my name. “And this charming guy right here is Anton.”

Anton says nothing, which is probably for the best.

June leads us inside past the framed family photos on the walls. A brown crocheted blanket is thrown over the back of a green suede sofa, and the faint smell of lemon cleaner is in the air.

“Sit wherever you’d like. I’ll grab the tea.”

“Thank you.”

Anton lowers himself beside me on the sofa, one arm resting behind me while his gaze scans the entire place. I swear this man is always combat-ready.

June comes back with a tray a minute later, three glasses of iced tea sweating against floral coasters. Once she sets it down, she sits in the chair across from us with her hands folded in her lap.

“So,” she says, her words carrying a soft little Southern lilt. “Why are you looking for the Hales?”

Picking up a glass, I wrap my fingers around it. “I think I’m their daughter.”

Her expression changes at once, her eyes enlarging before her brows tug in a sad way. “Oh, honey.”

My fingers grow taut around the glass. “I was so little when they died. I don’t remember them. I only learned about them yesterday, so I’m trying to find out anything I can.” My voice wavers, but Anton’s fingers close around mine, his grip steady enough to keep me talking. “Anything at all.”

June shakes her head and leans back, her face distant like she’s remembering. “That was such a terrible thing. We all wondered what happened to you after the police came and told us your parents had been murdered.”

My stomach twists, and Anton’s thumb moves once against the back of my hand.

“So you knew them well?”

“I did, though not as well as I wish I had.” June gives me a small, forlorn smile. “We weren’t having dinner together every week or anything like that, but they were a nice couple. Quiet. Kept to themselves, but always polite. Your mama had the sweetest disposition, and your daddy was the kind of man who would bring my trash cans up if he saw them still sitting by the road.”