"YOU WERE STANDING in the sunroom," Grayson said, his voice taking on that distant quality of memory. "About three weeks after you arrived. You didn't know I was watching."
Mailah's heart skipped. "What was I doing?"
"Talking to the roses." A smile ghosted across his face. "Full conversations, like they were old friends. You asked them how their day was. Told them about a book you'd just finished."
"That sounds embarrassing."
"It was perfect." His thumb traced circles on her palm. "Because in that moment, you weren't performing. You weren't trying to be Lailah or anyone else. You were just... you. Unguarded and genuinely kind to flowers that couldn't talk back."
"They might have been listening."
