MAYA

Five years later.

Silas was still terrible at leaving work on time.

Some things couldn't be fixed.

I stood in the doorway connecting my office to his, arms folded, while he continued typing as though he hadn't noticed me watching him.

He had.

The slight movement at the corner of his mouth gave him away.

“It's seven-thirty,” I announced.

His fingers stopped over the keyboard. “I can read a clock.”

“Congratulations.” I rolled my eyes and pushed away from the doorway, walking into his office. “You told me to be ready at seven.”

Silas closed the laptop. “Happy?”

“Not yet.”

He came around the desk and stopped in front...