Xander was in the kitchen when Ava walked in, the familiar scent of garlic and rosemary hanging in the air.
He wore one of his neat aprons, sleeves rolled to his elbows, a wooden spoon in hand as he stirred vegetables in a pan.
The sight was disarmingly ordinary, the kind of domestic comfort she should have melted into after the kind of day she’d had but she couldn’t, the guilt she felt denied her the comfort she walked into.
He looked up at once, his mouth softening into that familiar smile—the one she’d fallen in love with years ago.
“Hey beautiful, you’re late,” he said. “Long day?”
Ava forced her lips into a curve, slipping her blazer from her shoulders and hanging it on the back of a chair.
“Yes… busy meetings, deadlines. You know how it is.” Her voice sounded even, but insi
