Page 29 of Their Greatest Strength

“Let’s go to the kitchen. Do you have a dining table or somewhere we can sit and talk properly?”

I roll my lips and leave the teasing for another time. “Yeah, follow me.”

As the silence grows, I start wishing I’d put some music on or something.

“Did you have a good week?” I ask gently, stepping into the dining room and automatically pulling a seat out for her.

She eyes the chair and then me, almost like she doesn’t understand why I’d do that for her. After a few seconds, she takes it, sitting stiffly.

“Do you want the honest answer or the pretty one?”

Playing it safe, I choose the seat across from her. “Always the honest one.”

“My week was terrible.”

“What can I do to help?”

She blinks slowly, shifting as if I’ve made her uncomfortable with my question. “You know why I’m here, Jamie. There’s no need for the whole caring act.”

“It’s not an act, and I don’t know the specifics of why you’re here. You could have planned to rob me a second time and just needed an in.”

“I think we’ve already established that I’m a pretty shitty burglar. My criminal days are behind me.”

Propping an elbow on the table, I rest my chin on my knuckles. “While we’re on the topic of criminal activity, I’ve been wondering how you got past the gate outside. You’ve done it twice now.”

“The one at the end of the road? It was open.”

“Both times?”

She jostles a shoulder. “Yes.”

“Oh, boy, my mom will have a total fit if she finds out about that,” I mutter.

“She’s protective?”

My smile is instant at the mention of her. “Yeah, you could say that. Maybe more dramatic than protective, though.”

“You sound close.” It’s a blunt answer. Closed off.

I lean forward in my chair and search her face for the reaction she’s trying to hide but fail to distinguish it. She’s too good at pretending not to care.

Why? What happened to make her so closed off?

I’m too stubborn to let it go, promising myself to find the answers to my questions.

“Are you close with your mother?” I ask.

“No, I’m not. She’s been out of my life for a while now.” She grits her teeth and glares down at the table. “If I agreed to marry you, I would move in here, right?”

Straight to business, then.

“I think that would be best. Obviously, you’d have your own room. There are four, so you can choose whichever one you want. My home gym is in the basement, and the backyard has a pool.”

“I wouldn’t have to sleep in your room?”

“Absolutely not. I’d never make you do that,” I answer honestly.

She plays with the sleeve of her jacket, avoiding my eyes. “I mentioned before that I have a brother. He’s fifteen. Sixteen in four months. If I moved in, he would need to come with me.”

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