A pressure built in her chest, familiar yet foreign, like a long-forgotten memory trying to surface. She pressed a hand to her sternum, trying to ease the sensation. “Good morning, Mr. Whitmore,” she said politely, though her voice sounded distant to her own ears. I wanted to meet the kind gentleman my daughter’s been visiting.
Elias’s eyes never left her face, drinking in every detail as if he were memorizing a precious painting. The pleasure is mine, he responded, his voice barely above a whisper. Your daughter, she’s very special. Nia, oblivious to the charged atmosphere, held out the breakfast bundle. I made the toast myself today, Mr.
Whitmore. His hands shook as he accepted the package, and for a moment his fingers brushed against Nia’s. The simple contact seemed to steady him. “Thank you, dear one. Would you both like to come in for tea?” Roshelle shook her head, taking an involuntary step backward. Something about this man’s intense gaze made her feel unsteady, like standing too close to the edge of a cliff.
