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Snapped out of my thoughts, I stare at him.

“Then I’ll send you the photo. Maybe you can use it for your dog-walking profile.”

I laugh. “And what do I say if someone asks who took it?”

Aran shrugs with a mischievous smile.

We end up exchanging Instagram usernames, and he sends me the photo.

“Where did you get that phone?” I ask when the image comes through.

“Fox gave it to me. I should buy my own soon.”

“Why? Isn’t it good?”

“It’s still linked to his account. So he can track me anytime he wants. On the other hand… that thought is kind of comforting too.”

“Why? You’re basically being monitored.”

“I was…” Aran’s gaze drifts out over the water. “I was like an overdriven machine for a long time. I lost it and couldn’t be controlled.”

“How so?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes my nerves just snap. Art helps. It brings me back down to earth.” He turns back to me and forces a sad smile. “And you? How do you deal with pressure?”

“Me?” I wasn’t prepared for that question. Besides, Aran already got a taste after I came back from the supermarket completely unhinged. “Uh… well… I like going to the gym. It burns off the built-up pressure and brings me back into balance. My brother Levi and his twin sister Olena run a gym in Astoria. I go there two or three times a week.”

“What do you train?”

“All kinds of things. Mostly Taekwondo and Aikidō. Against my brother, it’s usually kickboxing.”

I can’t read Aran’s expression. He appears interested but also irritated. Probably because he can’t reconcile my strange behavior with my fighting experience, which I have trouble with myself.

How can someone who’s been fighting for years be mentally so weak and trapped in a toxic relationship for three years?

Before I slip back into the downward spiral, I push the thoughts aside and ask Aran how rehearsals are going. The transition isn’t particularly smooth, and he notices I’m deflecting again but lets it slide.

All in all, it’s a very successful and peaceful dog walk with Aran. No paparazzi ambushing us. And we don’t get into another stupid fight like we have so often since he came back.

Late afternoon, we’re home again. While Aran retreats to the studio, I sit down at the computer and schedule next week’s walks.

When my stomach growls, I head to the kitchen to see what we have. I came home empty-handed after the supermarket incident yesterday, but there’s enough for a bowl. There’s even fresh salmon left.

Strange noise is coming from the studio again. It’s not loud or particularly disturbing, just a bit unsettling. I go over, knock, and push the cracked door open. Sure enough, Aran is sitting at the mixing board adjusting knobs. I’d expected the distorted sounds to change, but I don’t hear any difference. Aran is so focused he didn’t hear me knock.

“Hungry?” I ask, raising my voice.

He spins around in his chair. It’s kind of cute watching him return from his own world to reality and process my words. When he glances at the wall clock and realizes how much time has passed, he drives a hand up over his forehead and drags it through his hair. That’s not just cute—it’s hot.

“I’m cooking something, and… if you want…”

“Oh… it’s fine… you don’t have to—”

“It’s not extra,” I interrupt him.

“You don’t have to… Just because we—”

“Don’t worry,” I answer sarcastically. “Just because you fucked me yesterday and we went for a walk today doesn’t mean I like you.”