Then he stepped slightly into the spill of moonlight.
Not dramatic.
Not rushing toward me.
Calm.
Victor.
Relief slipped out of me before I could stop it , irritated relief that felt too close to vulnerability.
"You scared me," I muttered, pressing a hand briefly to my chest.
"I didn't mean to."
His voice was low and measured.
Too steady for this hour. Too steady for a man standing alone in a dark kitchen past midnight.
He leaned one shoulder against the counter, arms loose at his sides, looking infuriatingly composed
He just watched me.
"You seemed very open tonight," he said calmly.
Not accusing.
Observing.
I grabbed a glass from the cabinet, keeping my back partially turned to him. "It was therapy."
"Yes." His voice was measured. Thoughtful. "I noticed."
Of course he did.
"You like him?" he asked.
The question was too direct for midnight.
I turned slowly, glass in hand. "That's not your concern."
