I watched in fascination as he clicked from camera to camera. Some of the images made sense. The front gate. Entry points to the house. A few of the workshop. But there were at least a dozen others. Views of the pond. The back fence. “This is a lot…”

Griffin stiffened in his chair, and I wanted to give myself a swift kick. I laid a hand on his shoulder. “I’m not judging. I’m just wondering why you have it all. Do that many people try and bother you?”

He exited out of the camera app, hitting a button so the computer screen went black. “Want something to drink?”

His avoidance of the question shouldn’t have bothered me, but it did. I hated that this man knew everything about me, and yet there was still so much he held back. “Sure. Do you have any tea?”

A small smile ghosted Griffin’s lips as he headed for the kitchen. “I always keep a box. I can’t stand it. But my mom loved the stuff. It just seemed wrong not to have it in the kitchen.”

It wasn’t an answer to what I’d asked, but it was something. A piece of his story. “What was her favorite?”

“Peppermint.”

I smiled as he moved to a cabinet and pulled out a box. Grabbing the kettle, I began filling it with water. “I make the kids peppermint tea every time they have an upset stomach. That or sassafras.”

“Sassafras is a real thing? I thought that was something they only talked about in old Westerns.”

I chuckled, turning the burner on and placing the kettle down. “Very real, and it’s magic when it comes to nausea.”

“Good to know.” Griffin laid a tea bag next to the stove and pulled out a glass for himself, filling it with water. “I became pretty fixated on security after college. My shrink said it was because it was something within my control. Something I could do to keep myself safe.”

I sucked in a breath and couldn’t seem to let it out. As if any movement, even an exhale, would stop Griffin from speaking.

He turned the glass in nonsensical circles on the counter. “You know people sold information about me. Mostly lies. Some of them were beyond ridiculous. I didn’t care so much about those. It was the truths that cut. In a matter of months, the little bit of sanity I’d built for myself crumbled.”

Griffin swallowed, seeming to struggle to find the right words. “First the accountant found out my uncle was siphoning off money from my trust fund. Apparently, he thought he deserved to be paid for the trouble of taking care of me.”

“What a dingleberry,” I muttered.

Griffin’s brows rose. “Dingleberry?”

“It’s become a recent favorite word of mine for jerks of the worst variety.”