Tessa had fed them a lunch al fresco on the massive outdoor table, the wind blowing the sheer curtains affixed to the corners of the portico. She filled up on mouthwateringly fresh pasta in a sausage and creamy tomato sauce, with crusty focaccia seasoned with rosemary, a tomato and burrata salad.

After lunch, Tessa had found Hana a child’s swimsuit, and offered RJ a closet filled with hand-me-downs. RJ picked a white sun dress, then went outside to watch Hana as she splashed in the pool, just her feet in.

“Can you swim, Hana?” she’d asked, and Hana had shaken her head. But the little girl did seem happier.

Maybe Tessa was right. Time. Love. Patience.

And then maybe they’d have answers.

Win had joined them and held a sheaf of papers, tacked together with big shiny brass tacks. He showed her the screenplay to Bring Me Home.

She’d paged through it, but really, she didn’t want to know the end, so instead she asked him how he was, really.

That’s when she got the lowdown of the plane crash that had killed his publicity team. “It was horrible. I would have been on the plane had Lake not suggested we go on a commercial flight. I had a meet and greet in Rome to get to.” He had looked away, and she didn’t think the glaze of his eyes was acting. “I didn’t know the team well. But…seven people.” He swallowed. “I canceled the rest of the press tour. It just didn’t feel right. Thankfully Tessa and Santini had room here, so we extended our stop over a couple weeks until I need to be in Berlin for a commercial shoot, and a publicity event.”

Then, he asked her about her family, their home in Montana, and she detailed her brothers, their crazy lives—Knox, who raised bulls for the rodeo market, bodyguard Tate, Ford, a SEAL, Wyatt a national hockey star, and her mom, newly remarried, living on their ranch.

She didn’t know what he’d said that had made her laugh, but she remembered him taking her glass and then—

Splash.

Now, she just stared at York, who simply breathed in and out, as if assessing her answer about Win.

“York, why —”

“Don’t you think it’s strange that Alan Martin found you—us—in Paris?”

She blinked. “I…um…wait. Do you think Winchester Marshall is in cahoots with Alan Martin? Seriously? York —”

“Yes! No. I don’t know, okay? It’s just too coincidental that he’s here. With you. Again.” His blue eyes poured into her, searching, as if she might have answers. His chest continued to rise and fall, so much emotion on his face she didn’t know how to read it.