Chapter 2 #2
When she turned into her driveway, he pulled in behind her, leaving room.
She was out of her car before he’d fully cut the engine, purse over one shoulder, keys already in hand.
The porch light had come on automatically, outlining the house and the boxes still visible through the front window.
She looked toward his car, chin lifted, and he took a few seconds before opening his door.
“You followed me.” Her voice carried across the driveway, controlled and edged with irritation, her grip tightening around her keys. “I know you’re going to tell me that’s not what happened, but I have mirrors, Viktor.”
“I followed you.” He closed his door without moving closer, hands relaxed at his sides. “I wanted to see you safely home.”
Her mouth parted, then closed again. She looked past him toward the street, then back, as if checking whether he meant it. “I told you I’d be fine. I have managed to get myself home before tonight.”
“I know.” He didn’t smile, didn’t soften it. “I wanted to see it anyway.”
The driveway went quiet except for his engine cooling and a car somewhere on another street.
Josephine stayed beside her open door, one hand on its edge, the other still holding her keys.
Dinner had left her composed but too aware of him, and he could see it now in how hard she was working not to fidget.
She stood very still when most people would have looked away.
“That’s not a normal answer.” Her eyes moved once over his face, his shoulders, and back. “Most men would try to make it sound casual.”
“I’m not trying to sound casual. You left my sight after dinner. I wanted to know you were behind your door.”
She gave a small laugh that didn’t settle into anything easy, closed her car door, and turned fully toward him. “You hear yourself when you say things like that?” She tilted her head. “Because it sounds very close to you deciding you have some right to know where I am.”
His jaw tightened once. “I have no right to demand anything from you.” He took one step forward, then stopped before the distance became something she hadn’t allowed. “That doesn’t change what I want.”
Her fingers flexed around the keys. He noticed — the movement, the way her throat worked before she spoke. “And what do you want right now? Be specific, since you seem committed to honesty tonight.”
“I want you inside with the door locked. I want the front lights on. I want to know you’re safe before I leave.”
She looked at him for several long seconds, and he didn’t move.
He could feel the restraint in his own shoulders, his hands, but kept his posture calm.
Touching her would have been easy. Closing the distance would have been easier.
Instead he stood by his car and let her decide what to do with his answer.
“You are extremely difficult.” The words came out quieter than before. She turned toward the walkway, then glanced back over her shoulder. “I don’t need an escort to my own front door.”
“I’m not escorting you.” He stayed where he was. “I’m watching.”
That stopped her for a second. She faced the house again, and he watched the set of her shoulders change — the words landing even as she tried not to show it.
She walked toward the porch without hurrying, heels sounding against the path.
At the steps, she glanced back once, sharp enough that his hands closed briefly at his sides.
Viktor stayed by the car. The decision cost him more than he let show, but he’d meant what he said — he’d followed her home to see her safe, not to force his way into her night.
She reached the door, unlocked it, pushed it open, but didn’t step inside right away.
She stood in the threshold, one hand on the frame, looking back at him.
The porch light caught her face, and he saw the careful control she wore there.
She lifted her hand in a small wave — not playful enough to dismiss him, not steady enough to hide what he did to her.
He felt it land in his chest and kept his expression still.
If he moved toward her now, he wouldn’t stop at the bottom of the steps, and they both knew it.
“Good night, Viktor.” Her voice was composed, but her hand stayed against the frame longer than it needed to. “You can go now.”
“Lock the door, Josephine.” Even, no please, not a question. “Then turn on the living room light.”
She stared at him for a beat, irritation flashing across her face with something warmer underneath.
“You’re not used to being ignored, are you?
” But she reached inside and flicked on a light anyway.
The living room brightened behind her, the stacked boxes and wide window visible now. “There. Satisfied?”
“Not yet.” He stayed in the driveway, attention fixed on the lock above her hand. “Door first.”
She made a sound that might have been annoyance if her mouth hadn’t curved at the edge, stepped inside, still watching him through the narrowing gap. Her hand rose once more before she closed the door. A second later the lock turned, clear enough for him to hear from the driveway.
He waited.
The living room light stayed on. Another light came on deeper in the house, then her shadow crossed briefly behind the window.
She didn’t come back to the door, didn’t open it to tell him he was impossible, though he suspected she’d wanted to.
He stayed until the house settled into quiet light and there was nothing left to confirm.
Only then did he return to his car. He opened the door but didn’t get in right away, gaze still on the window.
The need to go to her stayed sharp, but he held it in place — tonight had been about making sure she was safe, and he had: watched her walk inside, heard the lock turn, seen the lights come on.
He finally slid behind the wheel and started the engine, backed out with the same control he’d used all evening, then paused at the curb for one last look.
Josephine was inside, behind a locked door, warm light filling the windows.
That was enough for tonight, and he left only once he knew it was true.
* * *
Josephine chose a small table near the window because she wanted a quiet morning and didn’t want anyone asking whether she was settling in.
The coffee shop had steady noise — milk steaming, chairs scraping — enough to cover sound without making the room feel crowded.
She had a warm cup near her hand, a half-eaten pastry on a plate, her phone facedown beside a paperback she hadn’t opened.
For ten minutes, the morning had done exactly what she’d asked of it.
Then Viktor Nygaard walked in.
She saw him before he saw her, or at least before he let on.
Dark suit, no jacket, sleeves buttoned at the wrist, his attention moving over the room with calm precision.
He didn’t look rushed. He didn’t look surprised.
When his gaze reached her table, it stopped, and the brief stillness in his face made her fingers tighten around her cup.
He crossed the room without asking anyone’s permission — apparently his preferred way of moving through the world — and stopped beside her table, looking down at the empty chair across from her.
“Good morning, Josephine.” Low enough not to carry far.
His gaze dropped to the paperback, then back to her face. “You picked a quiet corner.”
She leaned back and lifted her cup. “I did. Then you walked into it.”
The corner of his mouth moved, but he didn’t sit. “That sounds like an accusation.” One hand rested on the back of the empty chair, waiting without looking patient. “Should I be concerned?”
“You should be more subtle if you’re going to follow me.” She took a slow sip and held his stare. “People usually pretend coincidence is believable before they ruin it.”
He pulled the chair out and sat as if the decision had already been settled. “I invested in this building years ago. If anything, you came to me.”
She studied him, unable to tell if he was serious. With another man, she’d have written it off as a line. With Viktor, some quiet financial connection to the place felt entirely plausible. “That is either true or the most controlled lie I’ve ever heard. I’m not sure which would annoy me more.”
“It’s true.” He folded his hands on the table, eyes not leaving her face. “Your annoyance is separate.”
“My annoyance is not separate when you’re causing it.” She looked toward the counter to break the contact, then regretted it when she felt his attention stay fixed on her anyway. “Do you appear everywhere, or am I receiving special treatment?”
“You know the answer to that.” Quiet, but it landed too directly. “I don’t spend my mornings with women who don’t interest me.”
A pull low in her stomach, sharp enough that she lifted her coffee just to give her hands something to do. “That’s not what I asked. You make a habit of answering around things.”
“I answered the part that mattered.” He leaned back, giving her more space without making the table feel any less occupied by him. “You’re the one pretending you don’t understand plain interest.”
She gave a short laugh. “Plain interest doesn’t usually come with property investments and sudden appearances before nine in the morning.” She tapped a finger against her cup. “Plain interest sends a text.”
“I could have texted.” His gaze moved to her hand, then back to her eyes. “I preferred seeing you.”
Her pulse jumped, and she hated that he could probably see it.
He watched details too closely — the way a man watches something he means to understand and keep.
She slid her pastry plate an inch to the side and straightened the paperback she still hadn’t opened.
“You’re very sure of yourself for a man interrupting someone else’s breakfast.”
He glanced at the pastry, then at her. “You weren’t eating it. You were holding the coffee and pretending to read.”