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“Max.”

I looked up at him, ready to argue, but a yawn betrayed me before I could manage a convincing response. Josiah's expression softened, and the sight of it made my chest ache with a feeling I couldn't quite name. He used to look at me like that when I'd insisted I wasn't tired after a long drive or tried to finish one more chapter after midnight. Back then, I'd taken his concern for granted. Now, I found myself holding on to every small sign that some part of that affection might have survived.

“Why don't you take a break?” he suggested. “I'll finish checking these references.”

“I can help.”

“You have helped. More than enough for tonight.”

I wanted to protest, partly because he was right and partly because I wasn't ready to leave the warmth of his company. Instead, I shifted in my chair and promised myself I'd close my eyes for only a minute while he finished the page in front of him. I could still hear the quiet scratch of his pen and the occasional click of his keyboard. Those familiar, ordinary sounds settled around me, and for the first time all day, I stopped thinking about Harvey, the message, and the secrets buried in Hartwell Cove.

I must have fallen asleep almost immediately.

I didn't know how long I was out, but I surfaced gradually, aware first of warmth across my shoulders and then of the soft rustle of paper nearby. I kept my eyes closed for a moment, not quite ready to surrender the comfortable haze of sleep. Something smelled faintly of Josiah's aftershave, a scent I remembered far too well, and when I shifted beneath the weight resting over me, I realized it was his jacket.

The knowledge brought me fully awake.

Josiah was still at his desk, leaning over the records with his sleeves rolled up. He hadn't noticed me moving, or at least he pretended not to. His jacket covered my shoulders, its familiar warmth making it impossible to dismiss the gesture as anything other than kindness. He could have woken me. He could have told me to go home. Instead, he'd let me sleep and given me something to keep me warm.

It was such a small thing. It shouldn't have mattered as much as it did.

I sat quietly for a moment, looking at him across the dim office. The lines of concentration around his eyes were deeper than they'd been earlier, and I wondered how long he'd been working while I slept. I wanted to ask why he'd bothered, but I was afraid the question would make the gesture awkward, or worse, invite an answer that reminded me how little we could assume about each other now.

“You're awake,” he said without looking up.

“Apparently.”

“You needed the rest.”

I drew the jacket closer around my shoulders before I could stop myself. “You could have woken me.”

“I could have.” He finally looked at me, his expression gentler than his words. “But you looked comfortable.”

My heart gave an inconvenient little twist. I could have made a joke, teased him about his terrible hospitality, or reminded him that lending me his jacket was a dangerous precedent. Instead, I found myself looking at the man I'd loved for so long and wondering whether he understood how much that simple kindness meant to me.

“Thank you,” I said quietly.

He held my gaze for a moment, and something passed between us that neither of us seemed prepared to put into words. Then he glanced at the papers again, giving me the same small refuge he'd offered me earlier when our conversation had wandered too close to the past.

“We've made a start,” he said. “But we're not going to solve this tonight.”

“No,” I agreed, reluctant to move beneath the jacket. “I suppose we're not.”

I should have handed it back immediately. I should have stood, gathered my notes, and gone home before the familiar comfort of being near him tempted me to forget why we had fallen apart in the first place. Instead, I sat for another moment, wrapped in the warmth he'd offered without asking anything in return.

The investigation had given us a reason to work together. The old ease between us had given us a reason to stay. Neither was an answer to what had happened between us, and I knew better than to confuse a kind gesture with a promise.

Still, when I finally rose and carefully returned his jacket, I carried the memory of it with me.

Maybe rebuilding trust can begin with something as simple as allowing someone to care for me again.

The thought made me smile, and I gave a satisfied nod. That felt like the right step.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

AN UNCOMFORTABLE QUESTION

Max