There’s something in Jude’s voice that tells me he won’t let me leave without a real answer—something deeper than just “because of breakfast,” even if that’s the simple truth. I could run, sprint out of the house right now. Would he chase after me? Probably not. He’d stand there, watching, with that infuriatingly calm demeanor, letting me think I’d won the moment.
But I don’t want to run.
I turn around slowly, my heart pounding in my chest. His eyes lock onto mine, waiting for me to speak. He draws a breath, the subtle rise and fall of his chest hypnotic. There’s patience in his gaze, an unspoken understanding that I need this moment, that I need the space to gather my thoughts.
I let myself study his face—every line, every shadow. The sharp angles of his jawline, the slight crook of hi
