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“Same thing.”

“Not to me.”

There’s heat in her voice now, faint but rising. That’s the first real emotion I’ve heard from her that wasn’t gratitude or guilt. She steps around me and grabs the napkin from the table instead.

“You don’t have to trust me,” she says. “But if you’re going to assume the worst, maybe just say it out loud.”

I don’t move. “I never said I didn’t trust you.”

“You haven’t said much of anything.”

I nod once, slowly. “Now you’re comfortable correcting me.”

Her face flushes. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Sure it is.”

She picks up the bowl and turns away before I can push further. She’s hiding something. I’d bet my ass on it.

And if I’m right—and I usually am—she knows damn well I’m the one most likely to find it.

So she’s avoiding me. Staying close to the others who smile and tell her she’s doing great, while steering clear of the one who hasn’t been impressed by her polite quiet or her careful words.

But I didn’t spend the last year making sure this is a stable home for Mae just to let a pretty face and a made-up story slip through the cracks.

She can cook and clean and charm her way into Finn’s heart. She can linger too long in Jonah’s silences. But I’ll be the one to dig. To watch where she trips over herself.

Because whatever she’s running from, I’m going to find it.

And I’d like to get there before those two idiots get so lost in her pretty, young pussy they forget what it means to protect the life we’ve built here.

She doesn’t notice me from where I’m standing just outside the kitchen. She’s facing Finn, one hand curled around a coffee mug, the other pressed flat against the counter beside his. They’re not touching but they’re so close they might as well be.

He says something under his breath, and she tilts her head, smiling in that small, shy way. Her body shifts toward him.

Finn leans in as he says something quietly, just for her. Her hand comes up to cover her mouth as she tries not to laugh.

It clicks then—whatever’s happening between them has moved past stolen glances and quiet moments. It’s physical now. Maybe not all the way, but close enough that it’s only a matter of time. If it hasn’t already happened.

I’ve been patient with her. Too patient. But I’m done waiting.

She disappears down the hallway with a basket of towels. I give it a few seconds and then follow her.

When I enter the laundry room behind her, she’s standing at the small folding table with a towel laid flat. I watch as she smooths the edges carefully. She folds the towel too tight, corners creased like it might fall apart. She hasn’t seen me yet, but I’ve watched her long enough to know this is a pattern. When she wants space, she takes on a task and hides.

She doesn’t seem to notice me, so I make myself known. I step into the room and let the door click behind me.

She certainly notices that. Her spine straightens but she doesn’t turn.

“Boone.”

“How did you know it was me?”

“Sensitive nose,” she says with a shrug like that’s a completely normal fucking answer.

“I’m done waiting,” I say. “You’ve been here for days. You know our schedules. You know our names. You know where the emergency key is.”

She nods but doesn’t speak.