Page 107 of What We Bury

Knox just grunts, which I’m taking as a yes.

“Wow,” I say slowly. “You guys seriously made a fucking babysitting schedule.”

“It’s not babysitting,” Milo says, offended. “It’s protective rotational companionship.”

“It’s surveillance,” Knox says.

Milo points the spoon at him. “See? He’s the one making it sound creepy.”

“It is creepy,” I tell him.

He beams. “And yet you keep inviting us inside.”

“I’m pretty sure you broke into my apartment.”

“Ilet myself into make you dinner, which is romance, not burglary. There’s a legal distinction.” He points the spoon at Knox. “Hewasn’t even supposed to come up. He was supposed to deposit you and go to work like a good giant golem.”

I look up at Knox. “Do you really have work?”

“Mm.” Which is Knox foryes, and I’m still not leaving.

Milo sighs the sigh of the deeply put-upon, then brightens, because Milo’s moods have the half-life of a sparkler. “Fine.Fine.If kitten wants us both tonight, kitten gets us both. I’ll just set another place and recalibrate my expectations accordingly.”

“What exactly were your expectations?”

“An evening, Sage. A whole evening. Dinner, a movie, the slow unfurling of my considerable charm.” He gestures at the table, where I now notice two place settings, a bottle of something, and a bowl of garlic knots arranged with genuine care. “It’s our anniversary.”

I shrug my bag off—Knox takes it, of course, hangs it on the hook by the door like he lives here—and turn back to Milo. “Ourwhat?”

“Anniversary.” He says it like I’m being slow. “One week ago tonight, I made a decision that changed the course of your life. I sat alone in the dark, summoned my courage, and resolved that the very next day I would walk into that diner and introduce myself to the most interesting woman in Hunter Harbor.” He presses a hand to his chest. “I’m commemorating that noble agony with a three-course pasta dinner, a bottle of fancy wine, and this truly excellent garlic bread.” He does a Vanna White sweep at the stove. “I had dessert, but I might have eaten it already.”

I blink at him. “You’re celebrating the nightbeforeyou talked to me.”

“I’m celebrating thecourage,Sage. The intention. Anyone can show up. It takes a real man to lie awake agonizing over it first.”

I press my lips together so I don’t laugh, because laughing will only encourage him, and I’m still mourning the version of tonight where I got Knox up here alone and put my earlier offer to the test. I shoot Knox a look. He watches Milo like a man who stopped expecting better years ago.

“And these.” Milo abandons the stove and crosses to me, digging in his apron pocket. He drops something into my palm. Keys. A lot of keys. Seven sets, on seven rings, each one tagged with a little paper label in handwriting that’s somehow both neat and unhinged. “Your new lock’s a proper one now. Deadbolt, reinforced strike plate, the works. No more shoulder-checking your own front door like a divorced dad.”

I stare at the keys. “Why are there seven sets?”

“One for you. One for Amy.” He counts them off, beaming. “And one each for the rest of us, so we don’t have to keep breaking in.”

Seven sets of keys. Five of them for men who watched me kill someone so they can come and go as they please.

The truly unhinged part is that I’m not reaching for the phone to call a locksmith and change it all back.

“Um,” I say. “Thank you?”

“You’re welcome. Now—” Milo claps once and rounds back to the stove. “Dinner for three. Knox, you’re staying, don’t argue, I made enough pasta to feed an army or one of you, which is the same quantity.”

“I should get to my shift,” Knox says.

The disappointment that drops through me is embarrassing in its size.

“At theclub?” Milo throws up his hands, flinging a small arc of sauce onto my ceiling. “On ouranniversary? Knox.Knox.We could have marked the event with a threesome.”

“I would literally tear your asshole open,” Knox says, and I choke. That’s the last thing I expected to come out of Knox’s mouth.