Page 126 of Lorenzo

I look down at myself.

Leggings. Thick socks. A sweater that is big and comfortable enough for home, but not something I would ever wear for company.

There is no reason for me to care what I am wearing.

I smooth my hand over my hair before I open the door.

Lorenzo’s gaze moves over me before settling on my face.

He has changed out of the suit he wore earlier. Dark trousers, open collar, coat. Less formal than usual, though there is still nothing casual about him.

Mocha steps forward and takes his place beside me.

Lorenzo looks down at him.

“Are you going to let me in?”

“That depends.”

“On?”

“Whether the wine is for me.”

He lifts the bottle slightly. “It is.”

I look at the label, though I know nothing about wine beyond whether I like it once it is in a glass.

“What is the occasion?”

“A job well done.”

His voice is quiet and smooth, moving through me elegantly.

My hand tightens around the edge of the door.

“For clearing my son of murder charges,” he adds.

“For the moment.”

“For the moment,” he agrees.

I step aside.

“Come in.”

Lorenzo enters, and Mocha circles him once before deciding he is not currently a threat.

I close the door.

“You found my house.”

“Yes,” he says and gives no further explanation.

He follows me into the kitchen and places the wine on the counter.

It's not a particularly small house, but it feels smaller with him inside it.

He looks around, taking in the kitchen, the hallway, the doorway leading toward the living room. He does it without appearing nosy, which is probably a skill he developed from years of entering places and immediately identifying every exit.