Page 50 of Rescuing Sophia

“In the kitchen.” Her voice rings back, warm and welcoming.

The sight that greets me in the kitchen stops me in my tracks. Immediately, my tension melts away.

Sophia stands at the stove, her hair piled in a messy bun atop her head, wisps escaping to frame her face. She’s wearing one of my old T-shirts, the hem hitting her mid-thigh, and she’s swaying slightly to the music as she stirs something that smells divine.

She looks up as I enter, her face breaking into a radiant smile. “Hey, you. Dinner’s almost ready.”

I cross the room in three strides, wrapping my arms around her from behind and burying my face in the crook of her neck. She smells of garlic and rosemary, underlaid with her unique scent that never fails to center me.

“Missed you,” I murmur against her skin, feeling her shiver slightly.

She leans back into me, her free hand coming up to tangle in my hair. “Missed you more. Tough day?”

I sigh, not wanting to burden her but also craving her understanding. “You could say that.”

Sophia turns in my arms, her eyes searching my face. “Want to talk about it?”

I hesitate, torn between my instinct to protect her and my need for her support. “Let’s eat first, then we’ll talk.”

She nods, stretching up on her tiptoes to press a soft kiss to my lips. “Go set the table. This’ll be ready in five.”

Dinner is a sensory experience that momentarily removes all thoughts of work from my mind. The chicken is perfectly cooked,tender, and infused with herbs. The roasted vegetables provide a satisfying crunch, and Sophia’s chosen wine complements everything beautifully.

As we eat, Sophia regales me with stories from the café—a regular who insists on ordering in rhyme, a dog who’s developed a taste for biscotti, and the ongoing saga of the temperamental espresso machine. Her laughter is infectious, and my shoulders slowly unwind, the knot of tension easing with each of her joyful anecdotes.

But as we finish our meal, the weight of the day settles back over me. Sophia must sense the shift in my mood because she reaches across the table, her fingers intertwining with mine.

“Okay, spill,” she says softly. “What’s going on?”

I take a deep breath, gathering my thoughts. “It’s Greaves. We’re… We’re stuck. Every lead we follow turns into a dead end. It’s like he’s just vanished into thin air.”

Sophia’s grip on my hand tightens slightly. “But that’s not possible, right? No one can disappear completely.”

I shake my head, frustration creeping back into my voice. “You’d be surprised. With enough money and the right connections, you can come pretty damn close.”

She’s quiet for a moment, her thumb tracing soothing circles on the back of my hand. “What does this mean for... for us?” The question is hesitant, tinged with a fear that makes my heart clench.

I meet her gaze, my expression resolute. “Hey, this changes nothing. You’re safe here. I promise.”

She tightens her grip on her mug, worry still lingering in her eyes. “I know. I trust you. It’s just... sometimes it feels like we’re living in this bubble, you know? Like the rest of the world can’t touch us. And then something like this happens, and it seems I’ll never be free of my past.”

“I know it can feel like that, but what we’re building together is real. And I’ll be damned if I let Greaves or anyone else threaten that.”

A small smile tugs at her lips. “My hero,” she says, only half-joking.

I bring her hand to my lips, kissing her knuckles. “Always.”

We fall into a comfortable silence, the weight of our conversation settling around us like a heavy blanket. But it’s not oppressive. Instead, it feels like a shared burden, lighter for being carried together.

Finally, Sophia speaks again. “So what’s the plan? To find Greaves, I mean.”

I lean back in my chair, running a hand through my hair. “Back to basics. We’re going to start with his known associates and work our way up. Someone has to know something, and eventually, they’ll slip up.”

Her brow furrows in thought. “That makes sense. And, Blake?” Her voice takes on a determined edge that captures my full attention. “You’ll get him. I know you will.”

The absolute faith in her voice hits me like a physical force. At that moment, looking at her across our dinner table, backlit by the soft glow of our kitchen lights, I’m struck by how far we’ve come. This woman, who’s been through hell and back, is offering me comfort and support.

“Come here,” I say, my voice rough with emotion.

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