Lena
I don’t even wait for the shadow at the back door to move. I grab the heavy iron skillet from the stovetop and stand in the center of the kitchen, breathing like a cornered animal.
The door doesn't burst open. Instead, there’s a rhythmic, arrogant knock. Three slow raps.
“Open the door, Lena. We’re past the point of hide-and-seek.”
Max.
I storm to the door, rip it open, and find him leaning against the doorframe, looking entirely too comfortable for a man who just gave me a heart attack.
“You have five seconds to tell me why you’re lurking in my garden like a common thief before I dent this pan on your head,” I snap, the skillet trembling in my grip.
Max doesn't flinch. He just looks at the pan, then up at my face, a dark glint of amusement in his eyes. “A skillet? I thought yo
