Page 87 of Letters From Victor

Her eyes held mine—uncertain, searching, hopeful. The vulnerability in them cut through me, more intimate than anything we’d ever shared.

Slowly, I tilted her chin up with my fingers, brushing my thumb along the curve of her jaw. A shiver coursed through her. The anticipation in her eyes sent a thrill through my veins—the kind that came just before closing a high-stakes deal, before claiming something meant to be mine.

I kissed her—tenderly at first, a lingering brush of lips. She sighed against me, melting into my touch. That sigh undid me. I deepened the kiss, our mouths fitting together like they hadalways been meant to. The world faded to nothing but her warmth, her taste, her surrender.

When we finally pulled away, we were both breathless. I kept my hands on her waist, unwilling to let her go.

“Barbara,” I started, but she touched my lips to silence me.

“Don’t spoil it,” she whispered.

We sat in silence for a while, wrapped in each other, listening to the steady crash of waves on the beach below. The salt air was thick and cool, but I felt something different pressing between us—Barbara’s tension, coiled tight in her muscles, her breath just a little too measured.

“What is it?” I asked.

She shook her head, letting out a quiet laugh, though there was no humor in it. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Know when I’m fighting myself about whether or not to say something.”

I shrugged. “It’s a gift.”

She shifted in my arms, turning so she could see my face. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes were clear, sharp. “What did you have to take care of this afternoon?”

I tensed, my grip on her waist tightening slightly before I forced myself to relax. The comforting warmth of the moment cooled like embers in a dying fire. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

“Victor,” she said, her tone insistent. “You promised. No more secrets.”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. She started to pull away, but I held her firm. “Fine,” I relented. “Let’s take a walk.”

The wooden stairs that led down to the beach were slick with evening dew, the planks damp beneath our feet. Barbara gripped the railing with one hand, the other clasped tightly in mine. The air was crisp, thick with brine, and the persistent crash ofwaves mixed with the occasional whistle of a distant ship. As we descended the last steps, the mist curled around us, softening the glow of the deck lights behind us. Ahead, the ocean stretched into the darkness.

“Do you remember our friend, Kowalski?” I asked when we reached the sand.

Her fingers tightened around mine, a reflexive shudder passing through her. “How could I forget?”

“Well, he’s come out of the woodwork recently, and he’s proving to be a real thorn in my side. Truthfully, he’s got more stones than I gave him credit for.” I pulled her along gently, our bare feet sinking into the cool, damp shore. A breeze teased Barbara’s hair, lifting strands across her face.

She slowed her pace, forcing me to turn and face her. “What kind of trouble?” she asked, her voice quiet but laced with genuine concern.

I stopped, letting the sand shift underfoot as I considered how much to tell her. “Kowalski got wind that I lifted his development designs for the new residential build in the Valley,” I admitted. “He’s making noise—talking to people he shouldn’t, threatening to go to the authorities.”

Her eyes widened. “Can he prove anything?”

“Doubtful,” I said, though the certainty in my voice didn’t quite match the knot in my gut. “But even rumors might be a problem right now. I need everything to stay quiet.”

We continued along the shoreline, the wet sand compacting under each step. A skeletal stretch of driftwood lay rotting ahead, its splintered edges jutting out like ribs. The tide lapped at its edges, slowly pulling it apart, piece by piece.

Barbara broke the silence, her tone cautious but insistent. “So what did you have to take care of this afternoon?”

I exhaled slowly. “I met with Phil,” I said, my voice carefully measured, “to discuss how to best handle him.”

She stopped again, and I turned back to find her staring at me, a storm of emotions playing across her face—concern, fear…something else I couldn’t quite place.

“Handle him?” she repeated. “Victor, you’re not…you’re not going to hurt him, are you?”

“We’ll do what we have to do,” I said evenly, leaving it deliberately vague.

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