Page 78 of Priest

Steak sizzling. Peppers and onions caramelizing. Warm tortillas wrapped in foil on the counter. Fajitas. Of course he remembers.

“Your favorite,” he says, not looking up. Not smug. Just attentive.

I swallow past the knot in my throat. “You don’t forget much.”

“No,” he agrees softly. “I don’t.”

We eat at my small table by the window. The food is simple and perfect, and I hate how much comfort there is in that too. How easily my shoulders relax without permission.

When the plates are mostly empty, the air shifts.

The charge returns.

He clears his throat, fingers curling loosely around his glass. “I came here to talk.”

I lean back in my chair and cross my arms, not defensive exactly. Considering. “You told me you were done making rules for me. That you wanted to know what rules I want.”

“Yes,” he says.

No hesitation. No qualifiers.

I study him for a long moment. Not the memory of who he was, but the man sitting across from me now, waiting instead of steering.

“Okay,” I say finally.

The word lands heavier than it should.

I don’t rush into it. I let the silence stretch just long enough for him to understand that this isn’t a negotiation. It’s a framework.

“Rule one,” I say finally. “You don’t get access to me unless I give it. No showing up. No deciding I need you. If I want to see you, I’ll tell you.”

He nods once, then hesitates. “You blocked my number. Cut me off completely.”

I blink, surprised by how gently he says it. Not accusatory. Just factual.

“Yes,” I say. “I did.”

“If I don’t have a way to reach you…”

“I’ll text you my new number,” I cut in, already pulling my phone from my pocket. I don’t do it yet, but the promise is there. “That doesn’t change the rule. It just means you don’t abuse it.”

His jaw tightens, then relaxes. “Okay.”

I continue before he can fill the space. “Rule two. You don’t speak for me. Not to your club. Not to your family. Not to anyone.”

He opens his mouth. “But you’re my…”

I look at him.

Just look.

Whatever he sees on my face makes him stop short. He lifts both hands slightly, palms out.

“Nope,” he says quickly. “No. Okay. Go on.”

I exhale slowly.

Good. He’s learning.