Page 84

“No,” he says, and the dryness in his voice makes me snort. “You make very little easy.”

“That’s fair.”

He tests the door, then moves away. I fill the kettle because my hands need a task. The coffee I drank this morning feels like it belongs to a different week, but I get two mugs down anyway. Andrei takes one look at the jar of instant coffee on the counter and reaches past me for it.

“You don’t have to make mine,” I say.

“You take a little milk and no sugar.”

“You saw me drink coffee once.”

“I pay attention.”

His hand is still near mine on the counter. He could use those three words to turn this into a gentler conversation, and I might let him if I were less tired. Instead, I think about the car beside us on the highway and the years he has given me in pieces.

“That doesn’t make up for everything you won’t tell me.”

Andrei puts the jar down. “I didn’t think it would.”

“Then tell me why you knew what to do today.”

“I told you what I can.”

“Who taught you to drive like that? Were you protecting somebody? Were people trying to hurt you?” My questions come too fast, but I have spent the entire drive holding some of them back. “When you say your past could put me in danger, I need to know what you expect me to face.”

“I don’t know yet.” He rests a hand against the counter. “The threat to the vineyard, the date I received, the man who came after us today. I’m working out how they connect.”

“And you’re doing it with guns and guards while I wait for you to give me permission to understand any of it.”

“I’m trying to keep you alive.”

“I understand that.” I switch off the kettle before it whistles. “But you keep acting as though you’re the only one allowed to protect anyone. Connor is my brother. Birdie is my family. You don’t get to push me aside because you have more people and more experience.”

His expression hardens. “You’re willing to walk toward danger for them. I’ve seen that.”

“Wouldn’t you do the same for Sofia or Mila?”

“Yes,” he says. “And I would want them to tell me if I was taking risks that kept me from seeing what was in front of me.”

I move away from the counter and fold my arms. “You could have said that without trying to keep me at the vineyard.”

“Today I should have asked how we could get you here safely. I was angry after the attack, and I ordered you to come back with me.”

It’s the first time he has said it so plainly. I watch him for a moment, still upset, but I can hear the apology in the admission.

“My mother died on a hiking trail,” I tell him. “She went out with friends on a Saturday. Connor and I expected her home for dinner. By that night, people were calling us instead of her.”

Andrei leaves his place by the counter but stops a few feet away. He doesn’t interrupt.

“Dad was devastated. At first we thought he was forgetting things because of the grief, but he kept forgetting more. He taught math for thirty years, and then he started losing his place in calculations he could once do in his head.” I look at the mugs I set out: one with a chipped blue rim and the other with a bookstore logo faded from too many washings. “I could help him make appointments and look at care homes. I couldn’t fix what was happening.”

“I’m sorry,” Andrei says.

“I know.” I rub my palms along my sleeves. “Connor was there through all of it. He remembers Mom before the accident, Dad before we had to move him, and me when I thought taking over the bookstore meant choosing between her life and mine.” My voice catches, and I wait until I can finish. “If I lose him, there won’t be anyone else who remembers every version of us.”

Andrei comes closer. “I won’t tell you he’s safe when I don’t know that.”

“Thank you.” My eyes sting.