stood in the centre of the soaked floor with a mop in her hand and her dark curls sticking to her neck. There were ink smudges on her wrist from the ledger she had tried to balance on the counter
oud knock echoed around the room. Three knocks on purpose. Mira stopped. Savannah stepped forward, her heart racing in her neck. The person outside was tall and still, with a halo of rain around them. He didn't knock again. Are you waiting for someone? Mira asked. Not until debt collectors wear coats that cost a thousand dollars. The moist wind curled into the store like fingers when she opened the door halfway. The man on the other side stood under a black umbrella. His suit was dry, and his eyes were sharp and his lines were sharp. Miss Quinn? His voice was smooth but short, as if he didn't want to waste breath. His face was hard to forget: thin, angular, and with a shadow of stubble down a hard jaw. It depends on who is asking. Declan Monroe. She gulped. Yes, of course. The name made me think of money. And war. You are the owner of the building across the street. I have this one too. Her back straightened out. Then you know it's coming apart. I know you're late on your rent. Four months. Mira stepped in to protect. She's giving it her all. It's not like Declan responded, "It's not your business," without looking at her. Savannah held on to the door more tightly. What brings you here? To get? Put me outside in the rain? No. I'm here to help you find a solution. She looked at the umbrella, then back at him. What kind of answer arrives in a coffin? He smiled, but it wasn't warm. A suggestion. Her stomach sank. Sorry? I'll pay off your debts. Every penny. But I want something back. It rained on his umbrella. She looked. So what do you want from me? He looked her in the eye and didn't blink. Your hand. In a marriage. The stillness was so dense that it could choke you. Savannah blinked slowly, once. You're kidding. Declan didn't move. No. Mira stood behind her with a towel in her hand, speechless. Savannah a