Page 68 of Exile

She looked relieved, but a hint of sadness had lingered in her eyes all morning long.

She would miss me. Not too much, though, which was fine.

I would still have her in my life.

Chapter 20

CASPIAN

one month later

A year ago, I would’ve laughed in someone’s face if they had told me that I would be sharing my home with a woman, especially in this tiny village in the middle of nowhere.

But now, with Darwynn curled up beside me, stealing all the warmth from the blanket, her sock-covered feet tucked under my leg, I couldn’t imagine it any other way.

She had settled into my home like she’d always belonged here. Her books cluttered my shelves, her clothes hung next to mine in the wardrobe, and the faint scent of her shampoo lingered in my pillows. She had even claimed an entire drawer in the kitchen for her baking utensils and endless mugs.

I never understood why one person needed more than one mug.

I had lived alone for a long time, but Darwynn made it easy to share a space. She had filled the quiet, softened the edges of my solitude, and made the house feel like a real home.

Nobody in town cared about her moving here.

Well, they did stare the first night we went to eat at the bar, and there were some whispers, but no one dared to come and ask us if Darwynn was now officially a resident of Hilton Beach. All the paperwork we filled out would immediately answer that question, but they didn’t ask.

Not even Theresa.

Tonight, we decided to stay in to watch a movie. It seemed appropriate for a rainy Friday night. Though, once we sat down on the couch, she convinced me to watch one of my films.

I had tried to fight it. “We could watch anything else, Darwynn. Literally anything.”

But she had just given me that look, the one with the slightly raised eyebrow and the amused smirk that always made me feel like I had already lost the argument before it had even started. “Caspian,” she had said, tone sweet but firm. “You spent years writing, directing, and acting in these films. How is it possible that I have seen more of them than you have?”

I sighed, already knowing she was going to win. “Because I don’t like watching myself on screen.”

“Actors are so strange,” she had muttered. “Well, I do like watching you on screen.”

And that had been the end of the discussion.

So now we were here, wrapped up in blankets, a bowl of popcorn between us, watching a film I had made nearly two decades ago.

I had forgotten so much about it. The way I had agonized over the script, the long hours on set, the stress of pulling the production together. It had been one of my biggest projects, and it had a big impact on cinema back then. Darwynn watched it like it was something new and magical like it was more than just a movie.

I noticed the way her posture had changed halfway through, her body tensed slightly, her fingers gripping the edge of the blanket. She was fully immersed in the story, and her breath hitched during a particularly intense scene. When I turned to look to her, I saw the unmistakable sheen of tears in her eyes.

I frowned. “Are you crying?”

She blinked rapidly, as if trying to pretend she wasn’t, and quickly wiped at her cheeks. “No.”

I smirked. “Liar.”

She groaned and buried her face against my shoulder. “Shut up.”

I chuckled, wrapping an arm around her, and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “It’s not even a sad scene.”

“That’s not the point,” she murmured, her voice muffled against my shirt.

I pulled back slightly so I could see her face. “Then what is?”

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