“Don’t overthink it, Elizabeth.” Nana leaned forward, her eyes narrowing like she wanted her words to sink into me. “I’m going to tell you this: before you moved into this house, Christian didn’t eat cookies. He never sat on the balcony to feed pigeons. He never let anyone—anyone—step into his bedroom, let alone sleep there. He never let laughter slip past those walls. And he sure as hell never softened his tone for anyone.”
Her words struck me, pulling me back to moments I’d brushed off. Him silently eating the cookies I baked, though he’d once claimed he hated sweets. Him sitting outside with me, tossing crumbs to the birds, his shoulders strangely relaxed. Him letting me stay in his room many nights, even pulling the blanket over me when he thought I was asleep.
My throat tightened. “
