Page 15 of Protecting What's Mine

I shouldn’t have touched her.

It was just too hard to resist.

“We should probably head back,” she says, moving away from me and back toward the house.

“Tory, wait,” I call after her. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. Ineverlet that happen with the people I’m protecting. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she says with a small smile. “We’ll just pretend it never happened.”

Oh, but it happened. Itfuckinghappened. And there’s no way I can pretend it didn’t, no matter how hard I try.

I grabThe Hound of The Baskervillesfrom the coffee table, my favorite Sherlock Holmes book, and settle into the armchair across from her. I find my place from earlier and let the familiar, suspenseful prose pull me back in.

The room is quiet except for the occasional clink of her tools against metal and the soft rustling of the pages as I turn them. It’s a peaceful kind of silence, the kind that feels natural, notforced. I like this between us—her working on the sofa, me reading in the chair. It’s a glimpse of what a future could look like with her, and the thought surprises me.

But I like it.

Ireallylike it.

I catch myself glancing at her more often than I should, watching the way her brow furrows in concentration, the way she tilts her head slightly as she examines her work. The way the light catches in her hair and makes it shine like gold.

I set my book down on the small end table beside me, the story suddenly unable to hold my attention. My thoughts are too focused on her, on us, and on the quiet comfort of this moment.

I lean forward slightly, resting my elbows on my knees as I decide to ask her something that’s been nagging at me. “What is your father discussing that people wouldn’t like?”

Tory sets her jewelry tools and the piece she’s working on down carefully, turning to face me. “Ways to use modern technology to feed people,” she says simply, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“What’s so bad about that?” I ask, genuinely curious.

She sighs, her shoulders rising and falling with the motion. “People usually fear what they don’t understand.”

No truer words have been spoken.I nod, letting that sink in. “I guess that makes sense.”

“They feel it will make the food harmful,” she continues, her voice tinged with frustration, “but if they’d just listen to my father, they’d see he naturally synthesized plant reproduction.”

“That sounds complicated,” I say, a small smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.

“It is,” she admits with a faint laugh. “But it’s also brilliant because it would mean more food at a quicker pace. We could feed a lot of starving people in the world.”

The passion in her voice is unmistakable, and it makes me smile. She’s not just brilliant; she cares deeply. About people. About the world. It’s rare, and it makes her even more incredible in my eyes. “I hope so,” I say honestly, and I mean it.

For a moment, she studies me, her gaze searching my face as if trying to figure something out. Finally, she asks, “What about you? What’s your family like?”

The question catches me off guard. I wasn’t expecting her to turn the conversation to me, and for a second, I’m not sure how to respond.

I lean back in the chair, my hands resting on my thighs as I think about how much—or how little—to say. “It’s just me and my sister now,” I start, keeping my voice even. “Our parents passed away when we were younger.”

Her face softens, her blue eyes filling with a quiet sympathy that makes my chest tighten. “I’m sorry,” she says softly.

“It was a long time ago,” I reply, brushing it off like I always do. “My sister and I looked out for each other, though. I try to see her when I can.”

“That must be nice,” she says, and there’s something wistful in her tone.

“It is,” I admit. “But my job keeps me busy, so it doesn’t happen as often as I’d like.”

She nods, her fingers absentmindedly fiddling with the chain of her necklace. “I can’t imagine what it’s like, having siblings. It’s just me and my dad. He’s always been so protective, which I appreciate, but…” She trails off, her eyes flicking to the floor.

“But sometimes it feels like too much,” I finish for her, and her head snaps up, her eyes wide.