Page 43 of Stolen Harmony
I sank onto the worn couch, hyperaware of how close we were in the cramped room. Kepler took the armchair opposite, his presence filling the space between us with something charged and unspoken. Now that I was still, his scent hit me—coffee, salt air, and a warmth that was undeniably masculine. It made my head spin, left me feeling both on edge and strangely at home.
“You've been to see her,” he said, and it wasn't a question.
“How do you know?”
“Lilies. Grace at the flower shop mentioned you'd been in.” He took a sip of coffee, and I found myself watching his throat work as he swallowed. “How was it?”
“Hard.” The word came out more honest than I'd intended.
“First time?”
I nodded, shame heating my cheeks. “I couldn't... at the funeral, I just couldn't.”
“Grief makes cowards of us all sometimes.” His voice carried no judgment, only understanding. “The important thing is you went.”
He was being kind, and kindness from attractive older men was dangerous territory for me even under the best circumstances. Especially when those men were sitting half-naked across from me, all weathered strength and patient attention.
“She was happy here,” I said, surprising myself. “At the end, I mean. She found something good.”
“She did. Found my boy, found a place that appreciated what she had to offer.” Kepler leaned forward slightly, and I caught a hint of his scent—something clean and masculine that made my pulse quicken. “What about you? What are you looking for?”
“I don't know. I thought I was just running away from New York, but now...” The words trailed off as I realizedI was staring at the way the morning light played across his collarbone.
“Now you're wondering if maybe you were running toward something instead.”
“Something like that.” I took a sip of coffee, acutely aware of his gaze on me, tracking the movement of my throat with an intensity that made my skin prickle.
“Sometimes we don't know what we're looking for until it’s staring us in the face,” Kepler said, his voice dipping lower—almost conspiratorial, edged with warmth. “And sometimes what we want is exactly what we think we shouldn’t.”
The air felt charged, too intimate for comfort. This was Elias's father. The last man on earth I should be imagining this kind of tension with, but there it was—undeniable, unwelcome, and impossible to ignore.
He caught me staring and smiled, slow and knowing. “See something you like, Rowan?”
Heat crept up my neck. I looked down at my coffee, embarrassed by how obvious I was. “Sorry. I didn't mean?—”
“I never said I minded,” he murmured, and before I could process it, he moved to sit beside me, close enough that his thigh brushed mine.
Kepler leaned back, regarding me with a lopsided grin, half amusement, half challenge. “Relax, kid. I’m not proposing.”
I let out a shaky breath, struggling to regain my composure. “Could've fooled me.”
He barked a soft laugh. “If I was, you’d know it.”
I shook my head, half-smiling despite myself. “You always use jokes to defuse things?”
“Most days,” he said, his eyes flicking over me. “It's better than most alternatives. Trust me.”
Against my better judgment, I laughed—raw, unsteady, butreal. With Kepler, even the danger of wanting the wrong thing somehow felt a little bit like permission.
“She wouldn’t want you alone,” Kepler said, softer now, but still with that teasing glint. “She’d want you to have people who gave a damn. Even if those people come with terrible jokes and worse cooking skills.”
I raised a brow. “You’re admitting you can’t cook?”
“Oh, I can cook,” he said, smug. “You just might not survive it.”
The corner of my mouth twitched. “Comforting.”
Kepler shifted closer on the couch, his thigh brushing mine, the banter fading into silence thick with things neither of us said. My pulse jumped at the heat of him, the nearness.
