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Starting to see things a little too clearly.

My fingers trembled as I eased the book to the seat beside me and rose. I made my way to the bathroom, used the toilet and washed my hands. Wide eyes stared back at me in the mirror. Lips too dark. A haunted, entranced look I’d never seen before.

I left my room, leaving the books and their whispers behind. Still, I carried the magic with me as I made my way along the hallway. The old clock chimed, low and seductive as I slowly crossed the foyer and that faint bitter tang of fresh coffee filled my nose.

This place existed outside the real world.

Timed.

Exact.

Hauntingly perfect.

I knew exactly where he would be. Sitting in his study. His coffee and food neatly aligned in front of him. My steps slowed, each heartbeat mirroring the entrancing ticking of the ancient clock. I didn’t want to see him, aware this was dancing too close to his rules. But I couldn’t help myself. Each step a paragraph of a story I craved to understand.

Did he buy them often?

Once.

For them.

For who?

His wife… and who else?

The scent of the coffee grew stronger as I entered the library. I shifted my gaze to the shelves of books, but that wasn’t where my focus was. I searched for him. For a sound. For the scrape of a plate, or a small clash of a cup. For a sigh. One of those that creased the valley between his brows. For those pursed, hard lips that smoothed the edge of his scar—one I’d traced with my fingers.

I was at the doorway before I realized. Eyes focused. Breath racing. Unable to stop myself as I took a step inside. He sat quietly, legs crossed, hands resting on the edge of the desk.

Two cups sat in front of him.

Not one.

Two.

Steaming.

Fresh.

And beside them sat four small plates. This time filled with more than silvers of meat and cheese.

He motioned to the seat in front of him and waited.

It was the plates that drew me. I moved, taking a seat in front of him. Only then did he move, gently pushing one of the steaming cups toward me. Plates were next arranged purposely. His movements precise. The first plate at my left, the next one beside it. The next directly in front of me. I lifted my gaze. Fixed on his face. On that crease between his brows as he arranged the food and waited.

Silence filled the room.

But it wasn’t empty.

It waited.

I reached for the cup. Then stilled. It wasn’t coffee. It was tea. A dash of milk. Still strong. I lifted the rim to my lips and took a tiny sip. Strong and sweet filled my mouth.

A tiny moan escaped.

The sound broke the spell.

He eased back, picking up his own cup, taking a draw of the strong black coffee.