Chapter 8
Casual Snooping: A Professional Assessment
Finn
Most homes on the wide street sat far back from the curb, but this house and a few others—clean Mid-Century Modern ranches—were positioned closer to the street with the confidence of architecture that knew it was different.
I grabbed my overnight bag while Enzo bounced around to my side, radiating energy that usually meant trouble for me.
“What do you think?” his grin stretched impossibly wide, and I caught that familiar spark in his eyes—the one that meant I was about to discover what I’d really signed up for.
A pristine green Land Rover in the carport caught my attention immediately—I was pretty sure my mouth actually watered.
“I thought you said you got us an Airbnb,” I responded, still studying the car.
It was the kind of restored, maintained, obviously-loved vehicle that didn’t come with rental properties.
Enzo had pitched this whole trip during one of those conversations where he somehow made his suggestions sound like they’d been my ideas.
And even though I knew precisely what he was doing, I still went along with it.
Dom was filming on the east coast while Enzo was scheduled to meet with stunt crews in Park City about a ski documentary.
Perfect timing, really, since I’d been going stir crazy in LA’s plastic fantastic wonderland—I missed the quiet peace of a carrier deck at night and stars that weren’t competing with billboard lights.
My medical discharge had made everything official three days ago, sealing the deal on what we’d all seen coming. The whole thing was like background noise I couldn’t tune out—constant and slightly irritating if I paid too close attention—reminding me I was permanently grounded.
“I said I got us a place to stay,” Enzo shouldered his bag. He headed for the bright burnt orange front door like he owned the place. Which, given his expression, he might.
“Whose house is this?” I hung back while he knocked some kind of familiar pattern instead of using the doorbell.
My heart beat an irregular pattern—the same as it did whenever I thought about Sasha. Which was considerably more often than seemed reasonable for someone I’d only spent a couple of days around and who was obviously taken.
Instead of answering like a normal person, Enzo hummed whatever song had been playing on the radio. I bounced on my feet, nervous energy mixing with anticipation.
Dom’s parting words echoed back: “Promise me you’ll be on your best behavior.” It should’ve been my first clue this wasn’t going to be the relaxing getaway I’d imagined.
A horn honked behind us, pulling me from my thoughts. I turned to see a tall, blond guy climbing out of an older Civic right as the front door opened.
“Sister!” Enzo launched forward, and I turned back just in time to watch him envelope Sasha in an over-enthusiastic hug. She put her arms around Enzo and nestled her chin against his shoulder.
My mouth went dry. She was as beautiful as I’d been trying to not remember—her dark pink hair pulled into a deliberately messy half bun and her oversized navy blue glasses somehow made her look both smart and approachable.
The jealousy I felt took me by surprise—Enzo was her brother, and I had zero claim on her attention anyway.
The blond guy appeared next to me with a nod that said, “fellow bystander in the Enzo show,” which I appreciated.
“Oi, you’re not going to make us stand out here all day, are you?” he called out finally.
“Jason!” Enzo released Sasha and pivoted like he’d been waiting his whole life for this exact moment, throwing himself at the new arrival with equal enthusiasm.
I stood there, trying not to notice how Sasha’s gray sweater had slipped off one shoulder, revealing a lavender bra strap.
Her dark green leggings and bare feet with bright pink toenails completed her casual put-together look.
It was more attractive than any red-carpet outfit I’d seen while living with Dom and Enzo.
“Hi,” I managed, forcing my eyes back to her face and feeling heat creep up my neck. “Sorry, I feel like I’m crashin’ family time.”
“What are you doing here?” The question must have come out sharper than she’d intended, because she immediately squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. When she opened them again, her expression had softened. “I mean, I’m surprised to see you. Enzo said he wasn’t bringing Dom, so I assumed...”
“Yeah, I’m getting a crash course in Enzo’s habit of being ambiguous about plans while sounding completely normal,” I scratched the back of my head. “He said he got us a place to stay. Turns out that was technically true, just not what I expected.”
“Typical Enzo,” she snorted, crossing her arms. “He’s lucky he’s so lovable.”
“Can we please come inside?” Enzo appeared next to me, practically vibrating. “I had two Kalimotxos on the plane and I really need to pee.”
“Gross, dude,” Jason moved toward the door. Sasha stepped aside and they filed past us, leaving me alone on the porch.
“Listen, I don’t want to intrude,” I started, suddenly fascinated by the slatted privacy wall to my right. I reached for my dog tags. Ugh—still gone. “I can grab a hotel room...”
“You’re not intruding,” she pulled my gaze back to her face again. Her eyes were worried. “Why would you think you were?”
“Because your brother apparently specializes in surprise guests?”
She was already walking into the house, tossing a casual shrug over her shoulder. “Enzo never tells me when he’s bringing someone, and I have plenty of room.”
I followed her into what looked like a magazine spread come to life—all clean lines and preserved character that felt lived-in rather than precious.
Game controller tossed on the ottoman, soft jazz barely audible until you caught it in a quiet moment, and enough throw blankets and pillows to make a nest.
“Won’t Alex be annoyed?” I asked, taking in the space.
She stiffened before turning back with a practiced and unreadable smile.
“Don’t worry about Alex.” She gestured toward the hall.
“If you walk straight back, the door on the left is the guest room. Enzo can take the pull-out in my office. Serves him right for not telling either of us about his nefarious plans.”
“Thanks,” I murmured, heading down the hall while trying not to look like I was cataloging escape routes.
I opened the door on the left, just past the now-vacated bathroom.
The small but cozy room hit me like a gentle exhale.
Natural light poured through gauzy curtains, making the dark green walls look like deep water, and for the first time in months, I felt like I could take a full deep breath.
After years of sterile Navy quarters, this felt like being wrapped in velvet.
I dropped my bag next to the bed and returned to the hall.
Voices drifted from the kitchen—Sasha and her brothers catching up, laughing at something Enzo said.
My heart did a small flop at the sound of Sasha’s full, genuine laugh.
The open door to my left revealed what was clearly her office space with dual monitors, enough books to supply a small library, and moisture rings on the large window-facing desk that suggested she actually used the space instead of just photographing it for social media.
Down the hall, another door stood slightly ajar, revealing a glimpse of dark navy walls. Either Sasha had a thing for bold colors, or she’d gotten a screaming deal on dramatic paint. Given everything else I’d seen so far, I was betting on the first option.
The house smelled like her, mixed with hints of something sweet, and high-quality tobacco like my grandfather used to smoke—warm and complex. It was as if she’d figured out how to make “safe” into a scent and then just let it settle into the walls.
Framed photos lined the hallway, and I drifted toward them without consciously deciding to. The casual snooping said more about me than I wanted to admit, but curiosity had always been one of my more persistent character flaws.
The photos told the story you’d expect from someone who enjoyed their family—wedding shots of what had to be her parents (she’d gotten her mother’s smile and her father’s bright shrewd eyes), graduation ceremonies, vacations where everyone looked genuinely happy instead of just Instagram-ready.
I touched the corner of a frame showing a tiny girl perched on her dad’s lap, blonde pigtails and wide smile—and obviously Sasha.
What didn’t appear anywhere was Sasha with the mysterious Alex.
No candid couple shots, no casual arm-around-the-shoulder moments, nothing that screamed “here’s my significant other and we’re deeply in disgusting love.
” Either they were very private people, or Alex was the kind of guy who avoided cameras.
Given how much Sasha seemed to enjoy documenting family moments, the absence felt deliberate.
I moved back to the office, telling myself I was just checking on Enzo’s setup and not conducting amateur detective work on someone I’d met twice.
Enzo’s bag had already claimed the pull-out couch opposite the desk, and the walls here traded family sentiment for a carefully curated collection of pop art pieces, some of which probably cost more than my first car.
I spotted the diploma by the door, elegant script on cream paper that made most of my Navy certificates look like participation trophies by comparison.
The name stopped me cold.
Alexandra J. Archer, Bachelor of Fine Arts
My chest felt hollow. All those weeks of wondering about “Alex”—imagining some guy who got to come home to her every night, hating myself for the jealousy that pricked at me whenever Dom mentioned him.
“Shit,” I breathed, pressing my palms against my eyes.
Enzo appeared in the doorway, and I watched his face cycle through confusion to realization to slight panic. “Finn...”
“How long have you known I’m an idiot?” my voice came out rougher than I intended.
“The night of our engagement party, she came to us after putting you to bed and said you didn’t like Alex,” Enzo shrugged. “She asked us to call her Sasha around you. It wasn’t much of a stretch. Sasha is what she went by growing up. She wasn’t Alex until college. She was Alex when I met her.”
My stomach dropped. She didn’t want me to know who she was because I’d said I didn’t like Alex. I turned to Enzo, my cheeks burning.
“You can’t tell her you know,” Enzo added.
“But—”
“You think she’s cool to you now?” Enzo put his hands on my shoulders. “She’ll completely push you outside her walls if she feels threatened.”
“What do I do then? Pretend I didn’t see any of this?” My pulse hammered against my ribs. I liked Sasha—Alex. I wanted to get to know her more—especially now I didn’t have the guilt of her being with someone else hanging over my head.
“That’s exactly what you do,” Enzo offered a sympathetic smile. “I’ll figure something out.”
“Enz! Finn? What are you guys up to?” Alex’s voice carried down the hall.
“Coming, sis!” Enzo called back before shaking me. “Promise me you won’t say anything. At least while we’re here.”
“I’ll try,” my mouth felt like sand.
“Great!” Enzo slapped me on the back, his usual jovial nature returning. “Let’s go see what Jason’s up to. Dinner should be about ready anyway, and Diana should be here soon.”
“Diana?”
“Second oldest, just under Alex. Then Marcus, then Jason, then me.” We headed down the hall. “I have an older brother back in Argentina, but he’s married with his own family.”
We arrived in the kitchen where Alex was checking the oven.
Afternoon light warmed white stone countertops and ash brown cabinets, spilling across the island and into the living room.
Sheer curtains shifted in the breeze of the open patio door in the dining area, revealing an outdoor table set with colorful linens and surrounded by cushion-covered benches and chairs.
I sighed in contentment.
“Hey Sash?” Jason called from where he was looking out the front window. “Didn’t you tell Graham not to come ‘round here anymore?”
The sound of something hitting the floor and shattering made us all jump, my hand automatically grabbing Enzo’s arm. I sheepishly released my grip with an apologetic smile.
“Damnit,” Alex huffed, crouching down and picking up large pieces of what used to be a platter.
“Let me help,” I crouched beside her and took the pieces, grateful for something to do. “You get the broom.”
“Thank you,” her voice was hollow. She stood and walked away as Enzo pulled the trash can out from under the sink.
“Who is Graham?” I whispered, collecting smaller pieces.
“Sasha’s ex,” Enzo’s voice carried a hard edge. “He cheated on her, then told her it was because she was too fussy and too big to be attractive anymore.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“Yeah. He’s an asshole sales bro. They’re a dime a dozen around here.”
Alex returned with a broom and dustpan. I stood to take them, but she held tight. “Let me do it,” she looked up at me, eyes sharp with anger and grief.
“Say the word and I’ll throw him out.” The words came out lower and more dangerous than I’d intended.
“You can’t,” she shrugged, managing a weak smile. “He’s dating my sister.”