Page 103 of Phoenix

“Right on time,” he says.

I grab a glass from the cupboard and press it into the water dispenser on the fridge.

“Thanks,” I say, before gulping the water down so I can fill it up again.

I take the fresh glass over to the breakfast bar and perch up on the stool, watching him cook.

“All right. Let’s hear it,” he demands.

“There’s this guy—”

He interrupts me quickly, “I knew it. Who is he? I’ll fucking kill him for hurting you.”

“Whoa. Relax. He didn’t hurt me. Quite the opposite in fact. He’s...amazing,” I admit, because it’s the truth.

“If he’s so amazing, why do you seem so dejected?” He plates the food and pours syrup over the top before placing it in front of me.

I thank him for the food and slice myself a bite before answering. “I feel dejected because I ran. I felt something for the first time in my life that wasn’t purely physical, and it scared me so badly, I ran.”

“I’ll ignore the purely physical part and focus on the rest. Why did it scare you?”

“Because he’s great, Marco. A gentleman.”

“And you met him in Georgia?” He rests his forearms on the counterspace in front of me.

“He’s Grayson’s, Amelia’s fiancé’s, best friend.”

“Sounds Jerry Springer level complicated,” he says with a shake of his head.

“That’s the thing, it’s not. It’s the easiest thing I’ve done, maybe ever.” I stab another bite of food with my fork.

“Tell me about this Grayson’s, Amelia’s fiancé’s, best friend. What’s his name? What does he do?”

“His name is Case—”

He interrupts me before I can finish. “What kind of name is that?”

“Don’t be an ass. Don’t cut me off and don’t talk about his name, Falcon,” I retort, putting emphasis on the nickname he uses professionally.

“I’m just saying. And Falcon is a badass name. Don’t hate.”

I just roll my eyes and continue. “He’s a cop.”

The word hangs in the air like a thick cloud. My brother knows my hatred of a police officer’s job

“I see. Damn.”

“Exactly. I was catching feelings too quickly, and it needed to end before I got attached.” I eat another bite. “So I left—in the middle of the night.”

“That’s coldhearted, Little Sister.”

“What was I supposed to do, Marco? Tell me.” I cross my arms over my chest.

“Give the man a chance.”

He says it so quickly, so plainly, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world.

Give him a chance.

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