You know the story. You don’t know the whole story.

“What’s in the bag?”

I could have sat there with her for hours and not said a word. I was perfectly content to be in her space, even on her worst day. “Those pancakes you like.”

Her beautiful expression softened, and her eyes momentarily darted between mine like she needed another second to process the thoughtful gesture.

It was a thoughtful gesture—something I’d never done for anyone but her. I didn’t send flowers. I didn’t take a woman to dinner or work events. I didn’t call them. I got straight down to business, treated every hookup like a transaction. I rarely let them sleep over, offering to take them home so they would be out of my hair as soon as possible. But with Fleur, I was a different man.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.” My eyes were transfixed on the beautiful emeralds in her pretty face. Even when she didn’t look her best, she still looked stunning to me. She was so damn alluring she didn’t need big hair and make up to dazzle. She was like the Eiffel Tower—which was still a marvel without the lights. “We can talk about it or not talk about it. I’m here either way.” I barely had serious conversations with Luca about anything substantial, and he was the closest person in my life. But I sat there, eager to hear everything she wanted to share with me. I wanted to hear her story, I wanted to know her mind and her emotions…all kinds of shit I’ve never cared about before.

But fuck, I cared about this girl.

“I don’t understand,” she said quietly. “You aren’t a nice guy, but you’re being awfully nice to me.”

I didn’t reply because I didn’t have that answer. Or maybe I did…just wasn’t ready to deal with it yet.