Page 106 of Creeping Lily
“My favorite,” I admit, the words coming out softer than I intend.
The truth is, I’ve always loved that story. But the first edition I own—the one I’d never part with—isn’t just about the book. It’s about the giver.
“First edition hardcover,” he says, finally turning his head to me. “Not easy to get your hands on.”
So he knows his books. That catches me off guard.
“It was a gift,” I say quietly.
“You must be special to someone to get a gift like that.”
The comment slips under my skin. I’ve never thought about it like that, but he’s not wrong. That book was the last thing Lincoln Walker ever gave me, and it’s priceless for reasons no money could touch.
The thought of him makes my chest ache. I look away, not ready to drown in the past when the present already feels like deep water.
I lie on my back, closing my eyes, hoping sleep will take me. It doesn’t. Titan’s presence is too large, too near, filling the space between us even without touching me.
The bed dips slightly. I don’t have to open my eyes to know he’s rolled onto his side again, watching me now, the same way I was watching him before.
And somehow, that’s worse than the mask.
The smellof coffee and eggs pulls me out of sleep before my eyes even open.
When I do, the dim light of the cabin filters in, and Titan comes into focus—standing at the stove in the small space that passes for a kitchen. He moves with deliberate ease, flipping something in a pan, the steam curling upward and carrying the warm scent of eggs through the air.
At some point during the night, I must’ve actually fallen asleep, because I don’t remember closing my eyes.
“You ruined my plans to bring you breakfast in bed,” Titan says without turning, his voice carrying that dry, sarcastic lilt that’s sharp enough to cut through my lingering haze.
I blink, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I hadn’t made a sound getting up, but somehow he knew I was awake. I’ve stopped questioning it—Titan has a way of knowing things before they happen. It’s unnerving.
“Haha,” I deadpan, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. My feet find my shoes, and I slip them on. “I need to shower.”
He tips his chin toward the bathroom door. “Your duffel’s on the vanity.”
I glance at him, a flicker of gratitude surfacing despite myself. He must’ve transferred my bag last night when we switched cars.
In the bathroom, steam wraps around me as I let the hot water wash the night from my skin. When I’m done, I towel-dry my hair and pull on clean sweats and a long-sleeve shirt, leaving my hair loose so it will dry faster in the absence of a hair dryer.
When I emerge, Titan’s already seated at the small table, asteaming mug of coffee in hand. His phone rests in front of him, the screen lighting his face until he sets it aside the moment I sit down.
The plate waiting for me is simple—scrambled eggs, toast—but the first forkful tells me it’s exactly what I needed. The eggs are soft and warm, melting on my tongue, and I realize I’m hungrier than I thought.
“You can cook,” I say between bites, though that’s as far as I’ll go. I’m not about to hand him the satisfaction of knowing how good this is. Judging by the faint curve of his lips, he already knows.
“I can do many things,” he says, his voice low, laced with a kind of meaning I can’t quite name. The sound skates over my skin, leaving behind a faint shiver I try to ignore.
I raise an invisible wall between us, reminding myself it’s there to protect my heart—because, like it or not, this man gets under my skin far too easily.
“You’re extremely talented at stalking,” I say, lifting my brow as I take another bite.
His mouth curves into that dangerous almost-smile, the one that dares me to keep pushing.
“If I hadn’t been ‘stalking’ you,” he says, “you’d be dead by now.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes, stabbing another piece of egg instead. “You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?”
He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to. The look in his eyes says it all—he’s going to hold that over me for the rest of my life.
