Page 56 of A Memory Not Mine (Sanguis Amantium #1)

Chapter fifty-three

Baird

H e rose before Mira, padding quietly through the house to put the coffee on and start breakfast. He remembered how ravenous she’d been last night just before Bastien arrived.

He smiled faintly at the memory and set about cracking eggs, slicing bread, the motions familiar and grounding.

He realized how much he enjoyed taking care of her.

Not because Mira needed looking after—she was sharp, capable, and fiercely independent—but because it gave him a way to show her how deeply woven into his life she had become.

He wasn’t sure if that helped or hurt his case with her.

Mira had a way of turning everything over in her mind, poking holes in kindness, tracing the edges of her own uncertainty.

He was sure she’d find fault in it somewhere—read it as overstepping, or worse, as some attempt to bind her to him.

Still, he did it anyway. Not to prove anything. Just because he wanted to.

When she came downstairs dressed for class, he could see something weighing heavily on her. He didn’t have to guess what it was.

“Out with it, Mira Garvie—when are ye leaving then?” he said, wanting this discussion out in the open. Better to have the truth of it between them than to let it linger and waste another second of their remaining time together.

Her eyes widened—shock flickering across them at the fact that he’d confronted her so directly. He wasn’t going to let her drag this out.

“The day after tomorrow—it’s an early morning flight,” she said softly, with something in her voice that sounded like guilt.

“Ye could have left tonight after class, or tomorrow even—are ye giving me that extra day?” Baird asked lightly.

She wasn’t running, not exactly. But she wasn’t staying, either.

“Yes— What can I say?” she muttered, the words awkward and quiet, as if she were speaking to both Baird and herself. “I need to get back…get some distance from whatever this was, back to my real life. But the thought of doing it sooner—it felt like a knife in my chest.”

Baird exhaled, slow and steady. He didn’t want her to hurt, not for a second.

But still, he felt a small relief in her confession.

She wasn’t as detached as she tried to seem.

Her words may have been guarded, but the feeling behind them wasn’t.

She felt something for him—more than she was ready to admit.

Yet, anyway.

But he felt it. It was there—quiet, fragile, but real. And it grew a little more with each passing day. The confusion and disbelief that shadowed it hadn’t lessened—if anything, they clung to her more tightly now, a protective layer she wasn’t ready to shed.

But still, he could feel her trying to accept this thing inside her, growing more comfortable with the idea of Baird occupying that space in her heart—what she might finally admit was love for him. And for now, that was enough.

“Well,” he said, injecting a little warmth into his voice, “I’ll take the extra day and make the most of it.”

He didn’t want her to feel guilty for leaving. He wouldn’t ask her for promises. He just wanted to make what they had—this small, strange, beautiful interlude—end on a note of joy. Something she could carry with her. Something that might make her want to come back.

“Would ye be interested in going for a sail with me tomorrow for a few hours?” Baird asked.

“You have a sailboat?” she asked, her brow creasing as her gaze locked onto his.

There was curiosity there, yes—but also a flicker of something else.

Bewilderment. Maybe even a trace of worry.

He recognized it instantly, the dawning weight of all the things she didn’t yet know.

Not just about the boat, but about him—about the life he led before she stumbled into it.

Baird shifted slightly, reading her expression like a map. She wasn’t afraid, not exactly. But he could see her mind working, recalibrating. And it struck him—how much trust she had already given him, and how fragile that trust still was.

“I do, in fact. I think I told ye I made a living at it at one point— sailing , that is,” Baird said, his smirk on full display. “Still enjoy getting out on the water. The boat is docked here in Edinburgh, although I’ve had it docked on Arran too. Ye don’t get boky on the water, do ye?”

“Seasick? No. I learned that word —‘boky’ —from Evie the day before I woke up on your couch.”

Mira looked pale and distant, the usual spark in her eyes dimmed by whatever storm she was quietly weathering.

Baird hated seeing her like this—drifting in a current he couldn’t pull her from—but he understood, at least in part, that this was something she had to move through on her own.

No words or the comfort of his arms could untangle what was going on inside her. Not this time .

“I guess I don’t need you to drive me to class today—or keep watch,” she said, her voice flat, almost hollow.

“Nae, lass—ye don’t,” Baird replied gently, his chest tightening. “But I’d be happy to drive ye.”

He tried to keep his tone light, but the truth was, the thought of her going off on her own—of no longer needing him—settled around him like rain clouds.

For one short week, his entire focus had been narrowed to keeping her safe, close, and he realized they’d been the very best days of his life.

Now, with that purpose fading, he was left with a hollow ache and the creeping realization that he might need to start figuring out how to live without her again.

Even if he wasn’t ready. Even if he didn’t want to.