He doesn't answer, but I hear him stride along the kitchen floor before the microwave opens. I twist my head to catch a glimpse of him, only to find that he’s swirling the chocolate in the bowl with a spoon before he places it back in the microwave.

“Thanks.”

“It reminds me of before—catching you in the kitchen when you couldn’t sleep.”

I feign a smile.Before. Vince once barged into my parents’ house because a light turned on, only to find me in my pajamas making my favorite late-night snack. He was worried Ralph had somehow gotten in thehouse, but any time after that when I wanted a snack, I would always text him before so he wouldn't get worried.

But he kept showing up, sitting with me while I made them. At first, we didn't talk much, but towards the end, we got closer and closer. One-word conversations slowly morphed into full sentences, and eventually, we talked like two old friends catching up.

My life wasn't any better back when we first met, but part of me felt a little lighter than I do now. It felt easier dealing with everything back then, and now, it feels insurmountable. “Yeah, same.”

I grab the strawberries from the container and place them on the cutting board that appeared on my counter. I look over at Vince, and he’s grabbing a knife.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like? I’m helping.” He grabs a strawberry and cuts off the stem. “Unless you want to do it?”

“Well, no, I—” I sigh. “I don't want you to feel like you have to hang out with me.”

He takes a deep breath, and I find myself staring at his arm veins for a beat too long. “Do you think I don't want to be around you?”

“Well, no. You’re practically required to be around me at all times. But nowhere in our contract does it talk about us being friends.”

“Bree, I’mrequiredto protect you, but me being down here and wanting to spend time with you right now is because I’m choosing to. Is that okay?”

I’m choosing to.He’ll never know how much those three words mean to me. “That’s perfectly okay.”

“Okay. So let me cut your strawberries for you while you grab the chocolate and the skewers.”

I nod just as the microwave beeps, and as I take the bowl out, my mouth starts to water. “Do any of your men want some? I feel like I should do something to thank them for their hard work.”

That earns me a small smile before he shakes his head. “After the assignment is over, you can make them whatever you want, but it’s best not to distract them while they’re on duty.”

“Okay. I just feel bad that they have to watch my house all night. How do they stay awake?”

“They’ve trained for this exact job and, believe it or not, people like working for me and Nico.” He continues cutting, and as I hop onto my kitchen island and let my legs dangle off the side, I realize how normal this feels.

Vince is cutting strawberries, and the two of us are talking about work. This might be one of the best nights of my life. “I’m glad you have Nico. It’s good to know you weren't alone all these years.”

“Bree, like I’ve told you before, I’m not lonely.”

“Oh, come on, big guy. Believe me, I know what loneliness feels like, and I bet jumping from job to job and place to place feels the same. Have you ever thought about settling down?”

His eyebrows scrunch together as he scoops the strawberries up and places them into another bowl. As he does, I hop down from my counter and follow him to my kitchen table. I sit in my usual spot, and he sits next to me rather than across the table like he always used to. “That’s not your usual spot.”

“Do you want me to move?”

I shake my head. I like the closeness. It makes me feel protected.Safe.

Four years ago, after Vince and I got to know each other a bit better, Liv used to invite him over for dinner on the days my parents were gone—which was most of them. Sometimes, I would cook, sometimes Liv would, and Vince would help us out. He was a wonderful guest, and when we all sat down for dinner, he claimed the spot across from me. He sat there every time, and it sort of became a thing.

When we’ve had dinner together lately, he has sat in the same spot. But now, it’s late at night, and he’s sitting so close to me that I feel the urge to place my hand on his thigh.

Instead of doing that, I grab a skewer, stab a strawberry with it, and dunk it into the melted chocolate. When I pop it into my mouth, it’sperfect. I swear, chocolate-covered strawberries can solve all my problems.

Well, most of them.

“I’m sorry about today,” he whispers as he eats.