Chapter Five

T allulah selected a Styrofoam tray of chicken breasts from the refrigerated trough, making a face as she tossed it into the red handbasket. As a vegan, she didn’t make a habit of handling raw meat, but she could tough it out for one single meal—and once she reached the produce section, she planned to gather eggplant, zucchini, peppers, and onions for a vegetable dish for herself. Her mother’s Saksuka to be exact.

What a difference a day makes. Suddenly, she was shopping with a man’s dietary restrictions in mind. High-protein, low-carb. Blech. Why was she in the store buying supplies to cook dinner for this man and his daughter, anyway? She didn’t have an answer to that. Except her mind continued to replay his rasping plea of help me across the table in the smoothie shop... and she’d kind of just ended up at the closest market to The Beacon.

One time.

She’d cook once .

Even if a miracle happened and she changed her mind about living with Burgess, her duties would not include cooking. This was a favor. A whim. Nothing more, nothing less.

She hung a right out of the refrigerated section and came face-to-face with an endcap full of peanut butter jars. As if she needed a reminder of Burgess taking a sip from her smoothie that morning. She’d only been thinking about it since it happened . During her meeting with her counselor, the woman’s mouth had been moving, but no sounds were registering, because every last one of Tallulah’s thoughts were on those strong white teeth. How they’d yanked on the paper straw, somehow contracting muscles in her tummy that hadn’t been exercised in far too long. That imagery was plenty distracting on its own, but throw in the flex of his throat as he swallowed, his eye contact intentional, curious, and the memories had caused her to leave the air-conditioned administration building flushed head to toe.

Now she had two reasons not to take the au pair position.

One: she didn’t want to live in a constant state of worry that Burgess’s temper might extend beyond the ice, an invisible boil just below the surface.

Two: she suddenly wanted to know if he’d use those same teeth to take her panties off.

The combination was alarming, to say the least. To be attracted to a man without knowing exactly what lay under his hood. Although, did anyone ever truly know what was lurking inside of someone? No, right? She’d been tricked before.

The monster had hidden himself so well. So well.

Tallulah tore her unseeing eyes off the peanut butter and headed for produce. She’d already picked up the chicken. Now she threw a green pepper, an onion, a lemon, and a garlic bulb into her basket. A potato, too, which was not part of her mother’s Saksuka recipe and would probably get her disowned, but the call of carbs drowned out the shame. Hopefully Burgess had a few basics in his kitchen, like cooking oil, sugar, and vinegar, or she’d have to send him knocking on his neighbors’ doors.

At the cash register, she paid for the ingredients, wrapping her arms around the big brown paper bag and stepping out into the Boston evening. And she had to admit, she liked Burgess’s neighborhood. A lot. People-watching in parks was kind of her thing, as it was free, relaxing entertainment, and there were plenty of green spaces in Beacon Hill. Burgess lived right down the road from a giant public park, not to mention one of the original selling points of the job had been the rooftop garden on his building.

Streetlights were beginning to flicker on, along with gas lamp posts, lanterns adorning stoops of three- and four-story brick buildings. Green ivy clung to the sides of every other structure, mums peeking out of immaculately painted flower boxes, brightening every residence. A lot of people living on the first floor didn’t even bother with blinds, so she could see them through their windows as she passed, kids doing their homework at the kitchen table. Lissa would probably be doing the same right now. Would Burgess be helping her?

A postbox on the corner jogged Tallulah’s memory and she stopped in her tracks, setting down the sack of ingredients on the sidewalk. She reached into the pocket of her coat and took out the postcard she’d snagged earlier that day in the more touristy section of town. On it was a picture of Quincy Market and scripted words that read Greetings from Boston . She read over the short message she’d penned to her sister, Lara, along with the Istanbul address she knew by heart. A lump began welling in her throat, but she dropped the card into the slot before tears could form in her eyes and continued on.

She didn’t stop again until she reached the corner across the street from Burgess’s building, her gaze traveling up to the top floor. She didn’t actually expect to see anyone, so she almost dropped the bag of groceries when she caught Burgess’s outline in the window, a Goliath-sized figure pacing back and forth, a phone pressed to his ear. And oh lord, she couldn’t pretend away the pressing fist of attraction beneath her belly button.

Since the incident that took place during her final year of undergrad, Tallulah had found it very difficult to abandon herself to chemical attraction. Or even experience the feeling. Appreciating men for what they could offer her physically had never been an issue in the past. Not at all. She’d loved men, prior to her string of internships around the globe. Flirting, too. The excitement and pleasure of a biological reaction to a stranger. That buildup of tension, the snap of release. Now when she ventured out to socialize, her nervous system went on high alert around men. She couldn’t function, worrying she wasn’t seeing the whole picture. Wondering what they were really like. And most importantly, what they were capable of.

She wanted freedom from the fear. Badly. Over time, she’d hoped that either she would overcome it or someone would simply strike her as different. Trustworthy. Not a monster.

Why did her libido have to make its illustrious return with her potential boss?

Like, come on .

A whole lot of complications could arise while living with a man she wanted to saddle up and ride. For one, he had a kid. Their age gap was notable. Tallulah wanted to get back to living, to making the most out of her twenties. Not settle down. No, thanks. She’d spent years hiding on research missions, but it was time to start fulfilling the promise she’d made to her sister, Lara, who’d been there to witness the incident and see Tallulah in pieces of emotional wreckage. Pieces that had taken a long time gluing themselves back together to form a whole.

Now was the time to get out and do .

Until she started keeping her word, she’d continue communicating to Lara through postcards. They made it so much easier to delay the disappointment—or worse, the pity—she knew she’d hear in Lara’s voice if she ever got the courage to call.

One hurdle at a time, though—and tonight was a big one. Six-foot-three, to be exact.

“It’s just dinner,” Tallulah said on an exhale, glancing left down the one-way street before crossing. The doorman gestured her through the entrance with a broad smile, like he’d been expecting her, and she rode the elevator up to the top, stepping out—and halting in her tracks at the sound of the argument coming from Burgess’s apartment.

“Hang up, Dad! It’s not going to help.”

“I can’t just do nothing, Lissa.”

“Yes, you can! Oh my God, you’re making it so much worse.”

Tallulah took one hesitant step. Then another. And stopped. Did she really want to get involved here? Because she wasn’t a fly-by-night kind of person. Once she got involved, she stayed there. This was only supposed to be dinner. A chance to pass on some words of encouragement to Lissa and maybe—and that was a teeny-tiny maybe—reconsider the job offer. But Tallulah’s instincts were telling her there wasn’t going to be anything casual about inserting herself here. Did she want to do that, considering her misgivings?

A gulping tween sob from inside the apartment propelled Tallulah forward, her sympathy making the decision for her. Propping the groceries on one hip, she rapped hard on the door three times. Silence greeted her from the other side.

Footsteps.

A scowling Burgess opened the door holding a phone to his ear, feet bare, hair wet, dressed in black sweatpants and a white T-shirt with the Bearcats logo emblazoned across the front. “I wasn’t going to be wearing this when you got here. But shit happened.”

“I can hear the shit from the hallway.”

He closed his eyes briefly, before settling them on the brown paper bag she held. “What’s in there?”

“Ingredients for Saksuka and some lemon chicken.”

The intensity of his scowl lessened dramatically. “You’re going to make that? For us?”

“Yes.”

“Please, for the love of God, come in.”

He stepped aside and Tallulah entered, trying very hard not to notice what the freshly showered professional athlete smelled like. But she failed. The answer was... delicious. Like he’d still been sweating when he got into the shower and hadn’t quite stopped by the end of it. The result was a drugging combination of menthol and musk that brought about a flip in her belly.

Thankfully—or not—Tallulah was instantly distracted by the girl sitting on the couch with the tear-streaked face. “Hey.” Tallulah crossed the room and set down the groceries on the coffee table. “Rough day?”

Lissa crossed her arms over her stomach and nodded miserably.

Tallulah nodded. “I can’t help but notice you took out the French braid.”

“None of them had braids today. I looked pathetic.”

Sympathy crowded in her throat. “I disagree that you looked pathetic. That’s impossible. But why don’t we worry about what’s happening right now. What’s the problem?”

Lissa erupted. “Dad is calling the school to tell them I’m being bullied, but I’m not. Not really. It’s... I don’t know. It’s more complicated than that.”

“They’re bullying you without bullying you.”

“Yes!” She flung an arm out at her father, who was now pacing back and forth in the open kitchen fifteen yards away. “He’s going to get them in trouble for nothing and it’s going to be way worse tomorrow.”

Tallulah shared a private wince with Lissa. “Let’s see if I can distract him.”

The girl swiped at her wet cheeks, looking hopeful. With a deep breath, Tallulah picked up the bag of ingredients again and made her way to the kitchen, setting it down on the counter. “Hey.” She took out the onion, pepper, garlic, and potato, setting them on the cutting board adjacent to the sink. “Can you chop these up for me, starting with the onion?”

“Me?” Burgess asked, stabbing a giant finger between his pecs .

“Yes.”

“I only have one hand right now.”

“Then maybe you should hang up?” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Translation: you should definitely hang up.”

His brows slashed together like twin swooping black kites and her heart started to pump. She’d just come into this man’s kitchen and told him what to do. How would he react?

A bony object got stuck in her throat while she waited, her fingernails digging into the palm of her right hand. His attention fell to her fist and that frown only deepened.

Finally, his gaze climbed back up to meets hers. “She came home crying,” he said, his voice calm. Even. “I’m supposed to just let that go?”

Tallulah could feel the girl’s hopes resting on her shoulders, all the way from the living room, so she held her ground, despite the trepidation. “I think you should, for now, yes.” She lowered her voice and turned her back to the rest of the apartment. “I understand the knee-jerk reaction to solve things for your child. I think that’s normal and healthy. If there was outright bullying involved or she was being threatened, adults would need to step in. But this sounds like typical girl politics to me. She’s twelve and she has to solve this problem for herself.”

“I don’t like it when she cries,” he said, enunciating every word.

“That’s normal and healthy, too.”

He grunted. “So you want me to hang up and chop an onion.”

“Yup. Your turn to cry, Sir Savage.”

Burgess ended the call with a surly grimace and shoved the device into the pocket of his sweatpants. Frankly, he looked disgusted. Yet he took the knife out of the block, examined the onion a moment, and started chopping, a sharp muscle popping in his cheek. And Tallulah slowly let out the reserve of breath she’d been holding, shaking out the hand that now displayed a quartet of half-moon indentations from her nails. When she felt eyes on her, she noticed Burgess watching her over his shoulder and forced herself into motion.

While removing the package of chicken from the bag, she winked at Lissa over the breakfast bar and the girl slumped backward onto the couch like a puppet who’d had its strings cut. Tallulah found a sauté pan in one of the lower cabinets, olive oil in another, and got to work cutting the chicken into pieces. She had been working in silence for a few minutes when Lissa appeared at the entrance of the kitchen.

“Can I help, too?”

“Of course. You can brown this chicken for me.”

“I can?” She approached from Tallulah’s right looking bewildered. “How?”

“Sprinkle some of that olive oil into the pan and heat it up.”

Silence stretched. “I don’t know how.”

Tallulah set down the knife and washed her hands, then gestured for Lissa to join her at the stove. She could feel Burgess’s eyes on her back as she walked Lissa through the motions of turning on the burner to the correct setting. They salted and peppered all of the chicken chunks together and added them to the pan, along with a dollop of butter and a hearty squeeze of lemon, Lissa jumping back when the sizzling oil popped. “You don’t help your mom cook?”

“No, she just does it by herself.”

Tallulah hummed. “She’s going to be excited to have a helper now.”

“Yeah.”

“Just don’t use the stove without an adult around. Your parents will probably get touchy if you burn the house down.” Tallulah searched the drawer for a set of tongs, surprised when Burgess handed her one over her shoulder. She turned and made eye contact with the hockey player where he stood in front of a crudely chopped pile of onions, watching her with a mixture of curiosity and gratitude. “Growing up in my house, we had a rule. You have to clear the air before a meal. If you still have anger in your throat when the meal starts, you could choke.”

Father and daughter looked at her with owl eyes.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Lissa pointed out.

“Neither did I.”

“It’s a good thing I know the Heimlich maneuver.” Tallulah sighed. “Chicken is definitely getting stuck in somebody’s windpipe.”

“I just wanted to tell you what happened, but you freaked out,” Lissa said to her father.

Burgess massaged the bridge of his nose. “I wanted to handle the situation. That’s what I do. I’m your dad and I love you.”

Lissa’s lower lip started to tremble, but she quickly stilled it. “Okay. Me too.”

Tallulah found it hard to take a deep breath. “Maybe next time, we’ll listen first and handle the situation later, if necessary.” She gave Lissa another side hug. “Does that sound good to everyone?”

“Yes,” Lissa said emphatically.

After a moment of consideration, Burgess nodded. “Yeah.”

Tallulah split a smile between them. “Congratulations, no one is choking to death tonight.”

B urgess needed help. Badly.

Throughout dinner, that fact was painfully obvious.

When he looked at his daughter, the affection in his eyes was clear. He simply had no idea how to relate to her. She talked about her favorite band and he grumbled about the lyrics being too mature. She giggled about her crush on the lead singer and Burgess looked like he needed to be sedated. Her desire to get a purple streak added to her hair had him draining his entire glass of water. It went like that.

By the end of the meal, Tallulah had drawn the conclusion that Lissa had gotten older, but Burgess was still mentally parenting a five-year-old.

“That was really good,” Lissa commented as the three of them cleared the table, rinsed the plates, and loaded the dishwasher. “What are we making tomorrow?”

Tallulah’s chest lurched. “Well, um . . .”

She met Burgess’s searching gaze from the other side of the kitchen. “Hey, kid,” he said gruffly. “Can I talk to Tallulah in private for a sec?”

Lissa looked at both of them, sharp as a tack. “You’re coming back, right?”

“You know how us adults operate,” Tallulah hedged. “We have to go over all the boring details before we settle on anything.” She looked the young girl in the eye. “But we’re friends, Lissa. One way or another, I’ll see you soon.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Lissa scrutinized Tallulah a little too closely for comfort. “Take her to the rooftop garden for your talk, Dad. She has to see it, okay?”

“Uh-huh.” Burgess coughed into his fist. To disguise a laugh? “Good idea.”

Tallulah narrowed her eyes at Burgess as Lissa danced out of the kitchen. “I’m being played. She remembers that I’m a sucker for gardens.”

He shrugged. “You won’t like this one. There are too many water fixtures.”

“Water fixtures?” she echoed wistfully.

“Yeah, the waterfall gets noisy sometimes.” He shuddered. “And it’s too bright up there with all of the string lights.”

She made a sound. “The ones with the big vintage bulbs?”

“You know them?” He cringed. “Awful. Just awful. You’re there to look at the stars, not a bunch of lights, right? I mean, the stars are right there .”

A giggle carried down the hallway in the direction of Lissa’s room.

Burgess gave her a quick grin. Just a flash of those teeth and her heartbeat doubled. Since when did she have a thing for teeth ? And if she did have a sudden fetish for chompers, why was it manifesting itself with a hockey player who could easily lose them with one rogue puck to the face? Everything about... noticing Burgess was inconvenient. She shouldn’t be following him to a romantic rooftop garden for a private chat beneath the stars.

But dammit, she really wanted to see that garden. Enough to go somewhere alone with a man, which she hadn’t felt safe doing in quite some time.

Did she feel safe now ?

“There are usually other residents up there,” Burgess said quietly while drying his hands on a kitchen towel. “Not a lot, but my neighbor’s dog gets the zoomies around this time of night and he brings her up there to run in circles.” He set aside the dishrag and slid both hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. “He should be there.”

Tallulah studied Burgess, his earlier words from the smoothie shop replaying themselves. I’m just going to come right out and say something, Tallulah, because it feels like it needs to be said. I’ve never laid a hand on a woman in my fucking life and I never will.

Thing was, she was kind of starting to believe him, even if it felt too soon. Too soon to really know someone, especially someone who had a temper and a lot of physical strength. His daughter was not afraid of him, however; that was very obvious. And there was something else. Burgess already had a decent idea of Tallulah’s issue, but he hadn’t pushed for the details. He was exhibiting patience and understanding, addressing her worries without her having to ask—and he wasn’t doing it in a patronizing way. That... counted for something.

“Then I guess you should show me this awful garden.”

Relief rippled across his features. “Brace yourself,” he said, jerking his chin in an indication that Tallulah should precede him out of the kitchen.

“I’m shaking in my boots.”

The rooftop garden wasn’t awful.

It was breathtaking .

Pushing through the metal door at the top of a narrow staircase and stepping out onto soft grass, she had to blink several times before she believed what was in front of her. There were, indeed, string lights hanging in a zigzag pattern from one corner of the roof to the other. Colorful Adirondack chairs were arranged in conversation circles on one side. On the other, a bench sat against a brick perimeter wall that was covered in moss. And the view . She could see the uneven chimneys that poked out of nearly every building’s rooftop in Beacon Hill. The tree-lined, cobblestone grid of the neighborhood. Beyond that, she could see the concentrated lights of downtown Boston. Cool September wind rustled leaves of potted trees that were already verging on yellow, soon to be orange.

There was no word for this place other than spectacular.

“Oh, this is playing dirty,” she murmured.

“No.” He drew out the word. “Making us that lemon chicken and... Saksuka?”

She nodded, impressed he remembered.

“Making us a home-cooked meal was playing dirty,” he continued, seeming relieved to have pronounced the dish correctly. “There’s nowhere to go from here but down.”

She gave him a pointed look. “Even if I were to stay, cooking isn’t part of the deal. ”

“Of course not.”

It was very difficult not to notice the way the breeze was plastering the thin white T-shirt against his pecs. “I mean it.”

“I know.” His stance was casual, relaxed, but from the corner of her eye, she could see him press his fingers to the base of his spine, massaging in a tight pattern, a slight wince pulling his mouth taut. Before she could ask if he’d received some kind of injury, a little brown Yorkie zipped in front of her. A split second later, it shot by in the other direction.

“Sorry folks,” chuckled a man approaching from the far end of the roof. “She’s about finished, just needs a few more laps. Don’t let her trip you up.”

“We won’t.” Burgess put his hand out for a shake and got a firm one in return. “How are you keeping, Hank?”

“Good. Good.”

Burgess tipped his head at her. “This is Tallulah. She’s a friend.”

“Sir Savage has friends?” Hank hooted at his own joke. “I guess I’ve seen it all. Nice to meet you, Tallulah.”

“Nice to meet you.” They shook hands. “Cute pup.”

“Thank you. She’s a handful, that’s for sure.” As though he knew the exact moment his dog would run out of steam, Hank hunkered down and scooped up the canine with one arm, where it panted happily, its pink tongue lolling out of the side of its mouth. “How is the team looking this season, Burgess? That pair of rookies you picked up have me excited.”

“Honestly, they’re annoying as hell, but they can play, so I put up with them.”

Hank let out another hoot, delivering a slap to Burgess’s shoulder. “And I know you’ve got some gas left in the tank, too, old man. They couldn’t have a better veteran to teach them the ropes. I hope they know it!”

“I’m sure you’ll yell it at them from the stands on opening night,” Burgess said dryly.

“You’re damn right I will.” He stroked his dog’s head. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. She likes to watch Wheel after her zoomies run out.”

Burgess nodded, but he was looking at Tallulah. “Good night, Hank.”

“Night.”

As soon as the roof door closed behind the tenant, Burgess cleared his throat. “Are you still good to stay up here?”

Tallulah registered her steady pulse, the lack of cloying fear that usually showed up when there was a possibility of being alone with a man she didn’t know and trust. There was a baseline hum of wariness, just not enough worry to return downstairs. Besides, she did need to speak to him. She hadn’t decided yet whether to move in, but no matter what decision she made, she was hoping Burgess wouldn’t mind if she took Lissa out for ice cream once in a while. And again, the fact that Burgess was taking her comfort into consideration went a long way. Was she really starting to feel secure around him? Already?

“Yes,” she responded slowly. “I’m good.”

Tallulah walked to the far end of the roof and propped her forearms on the perimeter wall, briefly closing her eyes to enjoy the sensation of the wind picking up her hair and blowing it out behind her. When she opened them again, Burgess stood to her left, watching her face with an unreadable expression that he quickly disguised with his usual stoicism.

“So why are the rookies on your team so annoying?” she asked, kind of hoping to stall having to make a choice—move in or move on.

Burgess rolled a shoulder that could have belonged to an ox. “They’re just young and cocky. They haven’t been humbled yet and it shows.”

“Interesting. What does it take to humble a hockey player?”

He leaned forward onto his elbows, seemingly mulling over her question. “Time. ”

That wasn’t the answer she’d expected and she waited, hoping he’d elaborate.

“They have to experience a few hard losses to appreciate winning. The greatest players are great because they can cope with losing. They’ve been there, been humbled by getting crowned second or third best.” He shrugged. “You can take home the first-place trophy, but it won’t be as sweet if you’ve never experienced second. That hasn’t happened to them yet.”

“Have you told them any of this?”

Burgess made a sound that called to mind a garbage disposal. “I’m not sure why everyone thinks guiding these kids is my job.”

“Because you’re . . .”

“The veteran.” He laughed without humor. “Believe me, I know.”

Tallulah studied his face, the downturned corners of his mouth. “You don’t like being called a veteran.” He grunted in affirmation. “Why? Just... vanity?”

“ Vanity? ” he repeated, looking like he’d swallowed a fly.

“Geez. Never mind.”

They went back to staring out over the rooftops. Burgess spoke again after a moment, “I don’t like the reminder that I’ll be retiring someday soon.” He paused. “I don’t like wondering if maybe I should have retired already. I think that’s what happened in that preseason game last week. I got asked before the game started if I still felt capable of playing with the young guns... and I don’t know. I think I just overcompensated trying to prove I could. I know how ridiculous that sounds.”

“I don’t think it sounds ridiculous. I don’t have the mindset of an athlete, but I can put myself in your... skates.” They smirked at each other and a little more of her wariness melted away. “Having a long career like yours is an accomplishment in itself. But you’re also at a disadvantage, right? Everyone has watched you play for over a decade and they can draw comparisons. Then they have all these stats to refer to—”

“This is really helping, Tallulah.”

“Sorry.” She laughed. “But I do get where you’re coming from.”

Still leaning on his left forearm, he reached back again and massaged that spot at the bottom of his spine. His low groan was also swallowed up by the wind, but she heard it.

“Back hurt?”

“It’s fine,” he grumbled.

She raised an eyebrow.

“It is .” He straightened to his full height and braced his legs apart. Crossing his powerful arms over his chest, causing those sharp-cut triceps to wink at her like they were sharing a secret. “We might as well talk about this nanny gig.”

Tallulah pushed off the wall and faced him, squaring her shoulders. “Okay. Let’s talk.”

“I’ll do anything I can to make it work.” He looked away from her as he said it, almost like he was slightly embarrassed. “You just waltzed in this morning and... Christ. I couldn’t even see your fingers while you were braiding her hair, they moved so fast. Then tonight?” He shook his head. “I know it’s not your job to be our family counselor, but you’ve got this way of calming everything down. I really don’t like people telling me to pull my head out of my ass—ask my coaches. But for some reason, I really, really don’t mind when you do it.”

As he spoke, pressure started to build in her chest, like a balloon filling with water, expanding, expanding. She’d already known he needed some help connecting with his daughter—and no, it wasn’t her job. But she wasn’t a half-in, half-out kind of person. She’d inherited the all-or-nothing trait from her parents, who’d grown up in a closely knit neighborhood of Istanbul, raised to step in and help one’s neighbors at a moment’s notice without expecting anything in return. It might have been eight years since she’d lived with her parents, but she’d never stop valuing the act of lending a hand, especially her own.

However. This whole situation screamed messy .

If only she could stop thinking about him openly saying he loved Lissa in the kitchen and the way her lip had quivered in response. Who wouldn’t want more of that progress for a father and daughter? And was she forgetting the not so little fact that a room in Burgess’s dope as hell apartment came free ? With a salary on top of it?

At this point, her bank account’s stomach was growling.

“Are you ready to tell me what’s holding you back from taking the job, Tallulah?” He took a very deliberate breath, in and out. “It’s getting harder and harder not to ask what I want to know.”

A cold iron pressed to the center of her sternum. “Burgess...”

“Did someone hurt you?” he asked, with a steep rise of his chest. “I’m sure you’re going to tell me it’s none of my business. And you’ll be right.” She watched his hands turn to fists in his pockets. “But understand me, I will make it my business if you ask me to.”

Over the course of their last two meetings, he’d obviously gotten the impression that her wariness of men stemmed from somewhere bad—and he was right. After all, it couldn’t come from somewhere good , could it? This was her private heartache, though. Did she want to share that with him? She wasn’t required to, by any means. Still, she found herself... wanting him to know. Wanting him to understand her wariness. Moreover, she didn’t want him harboring wrong impressions about what happened. “Nobody hurt me... physically. Not in a technical sense.”

He started, stilled, followed by his breath escaping in a gust. “No?”

“At least not in the way you’re thinking. Maybe what actually happened is better. Or maybe it’s worse. I might never know or understand.” Images she wanted to forget went screaming through her head like a movie in fast forward. The faint outline of hangers, the sliver of light beneath a door, the hysterical sounds on the other side. “But he would have hurt me, given the chance. And in some ways, I do feel... like I’m carrying scars.”

His eyes closed momentarily, fingers stretching and releasing at his sides. “I already hate everything about this. Please tell me, anyway.”

Perhaps because his concern was so tangible, she found herself continuing in a quiet voice. Working her way up to telling him things that only her family and Josephine knew about. “We moved to Florida from Istanbul when I was fourteen. My father was a developer and his firm had investment properties they wanted him to oversee. My mother had a really hard time adjusting. She missed the old neighborhood. But my sister, Lara, and I... we loved it in Florida. Made friends easily. They were always at our house.” A metallic taste coated her tongue at the simple act of picturing his face. “My sister was more selective when it came to dating, but I was an equal opportunity flirt. One of my sometimes boyfriends, as my sister called them, was Brett—and he seemed to understand that our relationship was only casual. We were mostly friends. And everyone adored him, including me. I mean, he was part of our family. He taught me how to drive a stick shift. He gushed over my mother’s kofta.” In her mind’s eye, she could see Brett approaching her on campus, holding a freshly printed class schedule and appearing equally surprised to see her. “Around the time my family moved back to Istanbul, I went to college, roomed with Josephine. Eventually we got an off-campus apartment. I dated. A lot. Brett and I stayed in touch online, but our interactions became farther and farther apart. He seemed to be back home, working for his dad’s car dealership. And then one day, my final year of undergrad, he was just... there. He’d transferred to FSU and rented the apartment right beside mine and Josephine’s.”

Burgess dragged a hand down his face, keeping his hand over his mouth. The words “Jesus Christ” were muffled, but still full of the same dread she could feel building in her chest.

“Even knowing what I know now about him, I’m still not sure I would have noticed the signs that he was a monster.” Deep breath. “But he’d been internet stalking me since... since I was living at home. It escalated when I left, went to college. And the pictures I would post, having fun at parties or entering short-term relationships... it incited him. Later, I found out from the police there were folders on his computer filled with saved pictures. Short stories that amounted to fantasies about what he would do to me one day as payback for not taking him seriously.”

Burgess remained quiet. Listening. Watching her intently. His chest moving up and down, faster as she moved toward the worst parts of the recounting.

“He waited until Josephine went home for Thanksgiving to visit her parents in Palm Beach. My family doesn’t really celebrate the holiday, so I stayed behind and...” She wet her parched lips. “I was in the hallway getting my mail and I felt someone come up behind me and put something over my mouth. A terrible smell and then... black. I blacked out. Waking up in the dark is the next thing I remember. I didn’t realize until later that I was locked in his closet. He was pacing on the other side. I could hear him muttering, saying these disgusting things about me. This guy from the neighborhood. My supposed friend. I think... honestly, based on some of the things he said, I think the plan was to kill me before I ever woke up, but he lost his nerve.”

Burgess cursed. Put his hands on his hips and turned in a circle, like he suddenly found himself confined, just like she’d been. “Oh my God, Tallulah.”

“He didn’t let me out for almost two days.” Eight words to gloss over forty hours of sustained terror and uncertainty, fear and discomfort and helplessness. Somehow, however, Burgess seemed to pick up on that. He stopped moving, holding eye contact with her, like he wanted to absorb the worst of her memories. “It was like the entire building was empty except for us, because of the holiday. It didn’t matter how much I screamed. Eventually I couldn’t anymore. My voice gave out. Someone came to the door—a friend of his—and Brett left with him, probably afraid he’d hear me. I spent an hour prying up a loose floorboard and when he finally opened the closet door, I swung as hard as I could. I knocked him out. And I just started running. I ran until I found someone coming out of a restaurant who could call the police for me. I still couldn’t speak, but I wrote down what happened and...” She stopped to gather herself, kind of surprised she’d made it to the end of the story. “He went to prison on a five-year sentence, but he didn’t make it that long. As I understand it, another prisoner attacked him while in line for the shower.” Her gaze turned another shade of serious. “I don’t celebrate his death. I also have no idea how I would have lived when he was released, you know?”

“No. I can’t imagine. Going through that. Then waiting around for the day he walked free. I just...” He huffed an unsteady breath. “I’m not as big a person as you, apparently, because right now I’d like to shake the hand of his killer.”

Tallulah nodded in understanding, because she’d been there herself at one time. And in a way, his outrage and shock over what she’d been through was comforting. She’d made the choice to keep her trauma to herself, but sometimes it hurt to watch the world continue on as usual, as if it never happened. He was acknowledging that it happened and it was horrific. Something about that was... a relief. An overdue one. “I won’t let him put an ounce of hate in my body. He’s already put enough fear. But...” She gave a jerky shrug. “It’s nice to have someone angry for me. I don’t feel like talking you out of it.”

“I don’t think you could.”

But she wasn’t quite at the end of her story, was she? There was more. And it caused shame to trickle into her bloodstream. “I promised my sister, Lara, that I wouldn’t let what happened make me live in fear... but I did. I took internships, found comfort in labs. I hid. I haven’t... God, I haven’t seen my family in almost four years. I can’t face Lara knowing I didn’t keep my promise.” Saying it out loud made her neglect of the vow more egregious. “I used to be fearless. I’d try anything once, travel, party with the best of them... but I’ve stopped living. Experiencing. I’m suspicious of men and their intentions. I’m afraid of letting go and enjoying myself, only to be blindsided. I was supposed to try and I haven’t. At all.”

Burgess started to take a step toward Tallulah—to hug her? She never found out, because he changed his mind and remained in place, sweeping the rooftops with helpless eyes. “I’m sorry for what you’ve gone through. The fact that you walked into my apartment at all with that hanging over your head is a testament to how strong you are.” He waited for her to look at him, his voice heavy with sincerity. “For what it’s worth, Tallulah, you won. You waited for your moment, you kicked his ass and got as far away as you could. And you didn’t let him make you bitter. That’s better than I could have done.”

She couldn’t locate her voice for a moment, because that gruffly delivered assurance had lodged itself between her lungs. How did Burgess know it was the exact thing she’d needed to hear? Even she hadn’t known until now.

“And I’m also so glad you’re here now,” Burgess said, taking a long, measured breath, as if picturing how the outcome could have been even worse. “Give me a chance to show you that you’re safe with me.”

Earlier in the hallway, when she’d gotten off the elevator and heard Burgess and Lissa arguing, she’d sensed herself standing at a crossroads. She’d knowingly taken the route with a lot of complications, and in truth, she’d already traveled at least a quarter mile, hadn’t she? She’d already involved herself. Did she think bailing now would be so easy? It wouldn’t. Especially now, after she’d shared so much with him. Shared everything .

“Do you have practice tomorrow?”

He seemed to hold his breath. “Yeah. From two to five.”

“And Lissa gets off the bus at . . .”

“Three thirty.”

“Okay.” Despite nerves that were still raw from the traumatic story she’d told, Tallulah held out her hand. “I’ll see you around dinnertime, during which I will not be cooking. I just feel the need to reiterate that.”

He stared at her hand in disbelief. “Are you accepting the job?”

“Can you have the lock installed on my bedroom door by tomorrow?”

“I can,” he said, without hesitating, letting the barest hint of sympathy leak into his expression, before putting it in check. As if he could read her and knew it wouldn’t be welcome.

“Then yes. I’m accepting the position.” She tried to keep her tone brisk and businesslike, but the utter relief blanketing his features turned her words sort of halting. “I’ll bring my, um, course schedule over tomorrow and we can make sure there are no conflicts with Lissa’s.”

Beneath the canopy of lights, with the wind gently blowing their clothes and hair, Burgess’s mouth spread into one of those rare and devastating grins. “Was it the garden?”

Why did those four words make her heart elevate toward her throat?

No, it wasn’t the garden. Surprisingly, it was... him ? Despite being a giant, growly hothead, he’d somehow reassured her. Which didn’t make a lot of sense, but Tallulah’s gut told her to trust him. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for a water fixture.”

His answering laugh was deep, quick, and just as quickly, he sobered. “Thank you.”

Was she fidgeting? She never fidgeted. Her hands and actions always had purpose, but right now, they didn’t know whether to rest on the perimeter wall or smooth her flyaways. Maybe it had something to do with the very, very brief way his gaze touched on her lips. And the restrained hunger that resulted on his face, echoing in her own belly.

A vibration traveled downward from there, leaving an ache somewhere she had no business hurting for this man. This was her employer now. A kid was in the mix. And he was thirty-seven to her twenty-six. Not always a deal-breaker, but one to think about, because she wasn’t ready to settle down. No, her goal was to start taking flight again.

Therefore, no more romantic rooftop strolls with her boss.

“I’ll just grab my purse from the apartment and head out,” Tallulah said. “See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” He seemed to realize he’d been caught staring and coughed into a fist, crossed his arms. “See you tomorrow.”

She pretended not to feel his eyes on her the entire walk to the stairwell.

And she doubly pretended not to like it.