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And a quiet that settled in her chest.

“Stunning, isn’t it?” He stood beside her.

“How?” Wonder threaded through her voice.

“I found someone who specializes in art restoration.”

She stepped closer, her arm reaching, fingers not quite touching. It carried the quiet, detailed warmth of something older — something made with love, meant to endure.

Something that had survived neglect.

Even abuse.

Her throat tightened.

“Hey.” Ronan took hold of her shoulders, gently turning her.

She dropped her head, pressing her forehead to his chest, grasping for composure.

His arms closed around her, drawing her in. “I’ve got you, Lissy-love.”

She fisted his shirt, her breath turning ragged.

It would be so easy to give in — to lower the walls, to share everything weighing her down.

To set revenge aside.

To give in to the feelings bubbling beneath the surface.

But she couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

It was her burden to carry. Her task to see through.

Alone.

Composure returned, breath by breath.

She pushed away. “So, where’s this fish you’re making me eat?”

“Follow me.”

They sat outside in the backyard, coated in bug spray, the air alive with the thin, needling whine of mosquitoes that refused to be kept at bay.

The fish was delicious — smoky, flaky — served with grilled corn, soft potatoes. And broccoli.

“Didn’t take you for a broccoli man.”

“A mere token to balance the food groups.”

“Token my ass.” She lifted her fork, a broccoli floret speared on the end. “Takes some skill keeping it crunchy, not killing the flavor.”

He grinned. “You gonna to think less of me if I say it’s my favorite veg?”

She canted her head, chewing. “Nope. I think a man who admits to liking broccoli is kinda … sweet.”

She had another s-word in mind, but — no. Not going there.

The look on his face said he caught it anyway. “Aw, she thinks I’m sexy, ladies.”