Jasmine
“My grandmother thinks I’m at a conference in Chicago,” Davin said as he placed two mugs of coffee on the kitchen table. “Lucas believes I’m avoiding a difficult commission. Between the two lies, I’ve managed to secure the entire weekend.”
Sunlight poured through the windows behind him, warming the counter and catching the faint disorder in his hair. I had never seen his kitchen properly lit before. I usually arrived when it was dark and left before morning.
Seeing him like this felt oddly personal.
He wore a faded black T-shirt that had softened from years of washing and a pair of gray sweatpants that sat low on his hips. There was no carefully pressed shirt, no tie, and none of the guarded authority he carried into the lecture hall.
“That’s an impressive amount of deception
