The next morning, I noticed something strange when I woke up. There was a small box perched at the foot of my bed. I looked around, but there were no signs that anyone had come and gone during the night.

I grabbed the box and placed it in my lap, noticing a note taped to the top. Carefully, I unattached the note and unfolded it.

Apparently, sundials are hard to come by these days. Hope this works instead.

The handwriting was slanted and the words were cramped together on the small slip of paper. It didn't have a name, but I had a feeling I knew who it was from.

Inside was a watch. It was small with a thin, leather band and a rose gold casing around a black face. When I picked it up, it was heavier than I thought it would be. This didn't seem like the type of watch you'd pick up at your local Walmart. There was no telling how much it was worth. I smiled to myself as I clasped the watch around my wrist.

*****

I found myself falling into a routine of helping Alma in the morning and spending the afternoon in the library before dinner. We cook breakfast together before the rest of the house wakes up, and she teaches me her recipes. Just when I think I have it down, I burn something and we joke about feeding the burnt food to the next person who walks into the kitchen.

When I arrived at the library after burning my second omelet, it wasn't empty. The fire was still burning in the hearth just like every other time and the lights were still turned down low, but there was someone lounging in one of the armchairs.

I paused in the doorway when I realized that it was Izaha with a worn leather-bound book in his hands. He didn't notice me at first and I was about to turn around and leave when I reminded myself that I had just as much right to be in here as he does. Well, maybe not, but I was staying anyway.

My stack of books were still on the table where I had left them and I snatched the top one, settling into the opposite chair quietly. Izaha glanced up from his book for a brief moment but didn't say anything. I curled my feet underneath me and opened my book, and I noticed Izaha's eyes finally drift back to his own book. We fell into a comfortable silence, the fire crackling in the background, as we read with the occasional sound of a page turning. I peeked at him over the top of my book, but his dark eyes just skimmed over the words on the page in front of him.

A phone buzzed a few minutes later and Izaha reached into his pocket, checking the screen. I watched him as he reluctantly closed his book and rose from the chair. He walked out of the room, taking his book with him.

Over the course of the next few days, Izaha usually beat me to the library with his book in his lap when I walked in. I wasn't sure if this was Jaime's way of keeping an eye on me or this was where Izaha spent his free time. Nonetheless, I found a comfortable familiarity in his presence even though we've hardly exchanged more than a couple sentences.

One evening I was surprised to find the room empty when I walked in. The fireplace was dark, and it left the room feeling colder than normal. Not finding much interest in reading alone and not knowing how to light the fireplace, I left.

I explored the second floor of the house. When Jaime gave me the tour, he only showed me the downstairs and only a few rooms upstairs, bedrooms he said. I peeked inside an open room, almost passing it until something in the corner caught my eye.

An ebony grand piano sat on the far side of the room. I slowly walked towards it almost as if in a trance. It had been so long since I had last played. My old keyboard was sitting in a closet at home getting dusty. I never bothered to get it out. But standing in front of this beast of an instrument, my fingers twitched in anticipation, grazing the dark wood. The words of my old piano teacher drifted back to me,

"Before your fingers ever touch the keys, you must learn to first respect the instrument. If you treat it with care, you'll produce something beautiful."

"Do you play?"

I turned, startled and frowned at Jaime whose tall frame filled the doorway. I shook my head, my hand falling back to my side. "Not anymore."

He stepped forward into the room, looking around. "My mother used to play for me every evening. Now, I'm not sure anyone has been here in years, except to clean."

I could hear the longing and sorrow in his voice when he spoke of her. "I'm sorry. I wouldn't have come in here if I had known."

He waves his hand, shrugging off my apology. "It's about time someone played music here again."

I didn't respond, clasping my hands in front of me and looking anywhere but at him and his grey eyes that swirled with an emotion I couldn't recognize. Didn't want to recognize.

"Do you want to go out?" Jaime asked, abruptly breaking the silence.

"Out?"

"For dinner." That look was gone from his eyes, replaced by his usual smirk. "I thought you might like to go out for a while."

"Sure. That would be nice." What's he up to?

"I'll come get you in an hour. I trust that you won't try anything?" Jaime asked, looking at me expectantly. I shook my head, but he was already out the door to see it.

An hour later, I had just changed into a pair of dark jeans and a silk top, clasping the watch around my wrist, when a knock sounded at the door. Jaime takes in my appearance, scanning me from head to toe, his eyes lingering on my wrist before leading me down the hall. We turned down an unfamiliar part of the house.

My jaw dropped as we entered a massive garage. The sheer number of vehicles parked in the room ranged from expensive sports cars to SUVs to sedans. I could understand why he had omitted this part of the tour. Jaime led me over to a charcoal Lexus and opened the passenger door. I stopped, eyeing the car that would only fit two people.

"What about the others?"

"It's just us." He stated, hand resting on the door frame.

"Oh." I slid into the black leather seat, the door closing after me. My hands fidgeted with the hem of my shirt as Jaime rounded the car. I watched as he started the ignition and drove us out of the garage.

"Where are we going?" I asked once we left through the gate. I was a little insulted that it didn't look like it had been rammed into by a car, might I add.

"There's an Italian place in the city, if you're okay with that?" He glanced at me, looking more relaxed than I've ever seen him. He was wearing a leather jacket that looked similar to the one he wore the night we met along with jeans and a t-shirt. It was a nice contrast to the dress clothes he normally wore.

"Sure." I stared out the windshield, the sky starting to turn pink at the edges. We hadn't passed any other houses or buildings since we left, and I realized just how far from everything we really were. I'm still surprised that we're going anywhere at all. Isn't Jaime worried that I might run off? Maybe this is all an elaborate plan to see if he can trust me.

"I've heard you've been helping Alma?"

"Yeah. She's been teaching me some of her recipes."

Silence filled the car again as Jaime drove. After an hour of driving, Jaime turned the car, and suddenly, we were back in the city. Tall buildings loomed above us, blocking out what little sunlight was left. I stared out the window, noticing that Jaime took a route that didn't pass by Black Wolf.

"When can I go back?" I asked softly, longing to be one of the people out on the sidewalk.

Jaime sighed. "You can't. It's too dangerous." I opened my mouth to object but he cut me off. "You've been associated with me. That's enough."

"It's because of you."

"We can't go back and change it now. It's too much of a risk to send you back. If anyone has already found out about you, you're in danger. You're safer with me-us." If what he said was true, then my life might be in the past. I wasn't sure whether I believed it or not.

Jaime pulled to a stop in front of a restaurant with a line that trailed halfway down the sidewalk. The valet rushed to the car before Jaime even put it in park.

"I hope you have a reservation. This place looks packed." I commented, the valet opening my door for me. Jaime smirked as he stepped out of the car, coming around to meet me.

Jaime's hand rested on the small of my back as we climbed the steps leading to the front door. The neon sign above the door read Gionno in cursive letters. The people waiting in line glared at us as we passed, but I just focused on the ground in front of me and Jaime's hand on my back.

When we approached the host stand, I expected Jaime to give his name or bribe her into giving us a table, but upon seeing us, the woman immediately led us to a quiet booth in the back.

"Mr. Santoro, Ms. Williams, enjoy your meal." The host places two menus on the table and leaves. I narrowed my eyes suspiciously at Jaime seated across from me.

"I called ahead. I own the restaurant."

"You own it?" I ask, incredulous.

"It was my great-grandfather's. Gionno Santoro." He said as if that answered everything.

"So, Mr. Owner, any suggestions?" I looked over the menu but it was foreign to me. Literally. "Wait a second, is this actually in Italian? How does anyone even order here?" I scoured the menu for something in English while Jaime watched me with amusement. "I think I'll have the spaghetti." I declared proudly, pointing at the word Spaghetti.

"That's the kids' menu." Jaime chuckled.

The server was approaching our table. I shut the menu, setting it down on the table. "Fine, you can just order for me." I said quickly, before the server reached us.

"Good evening, Mr. Santoro, Ms. Williams. How are we doing this evening?"

"We're fine, Bryan." Jaime greeted. "We're ready to order." Bryan didn't seem surprised and pulled out a notebook, pen at the ready. Jaime rattled off what I assumed was food in Italian while Bryan jotted it all down and hurried off to the kitchen.

"So, you're Italian?"

"Half Italian. My father's side is from Italy. My mother was American."

"Have you ever been to Italy?"

Jaime nodded. "I used to go every year, but I haven't been back in a while."

"That's so cool. I'd love to travel more." My words grew softer as I realized that I probably won't be traveling anytime soon.

Jaime hesitated when Bryan returned with our drinks. He spoke when he was out of earshot. "I could take you, if you want."

His offer caught me off guard and I choked on my water. "Um, okay." I said when I could finally speak. I tried to think of something to change the subject to avoid the smile he was giving me across the table. His smirk I could handle, but his smile that showed off one crooked tooth on the bottom row summoned an army of butterflies in my stomach.

"Did you grow up in Chicago then?" I finally asked, fidgeting with my water glass and not looking at him.

"Born and raised. Lived in the same house for twenty-eight years." His smile left as he raised his glass to his lips. "What about you?"

"Well, I grew up in Maryland and left when I graduated high school. I traveled for a little bit before I landed in Chicago a couple years ago."

"Where did you go?" Jaime propped his elbows on the table, leaning forward.

"Oh, you know. All the touristy places. New York, DC, Nashville. I haven't been out of the country though. Never made it quite that far."

"Why stay in Chicago then?"

I raised my eyebrows. I had never really thought about it. "I don't know. I guess it felt like this is where I was supposed to be." I felt a blush heating my cheeks. "Sorry, that sounds stupid, doesn't it."

"Not at all." Jaime stared at me like he could read my thoughts. Like he could see straight into my soul. I leaned my elbows on the table, mirroring him as my eyes locked with his.

"Buon appetito." Bryan appeared out of nowhere with two steaming plates of pasta, setting them down in front of us. I jumped back in my seat, hands falling to my lap. Jaime slowly took his elbows off the table, clasping his hands in front of him as Bryan left us alone once more.

"So, what do you do for fun?" I asked, unraveling my silverware and draping the cloth napkin in my lap.

"I don't have time for fun."

"Oh, come on. You have to have at least one hobby."

Jaime shrugged, shaking his head. "Working keeps me busy."

I frowned, unconvinced. "If you had a day off, what would you do?"

"I never have a day off." He replied, staring at me over his plate.

"Pretend."

Jaime rolled his eyes, but finally gave in. "Paint."

My eyebrows shoot up. "Paint? Like on canvas?" That was not what I was expecting. Honestly I didn't know what to expect, but Jaime just didn't seem like the type of person that would have the patience for painting. "You'll have to paint me something then."

"Only if you play a song for me."

I froze, fork halfway to my mouth. "I don't play anymore."

"Why not?"

I haven't played in years and for good reason. "I just didn't see the point in it." Not a complete lie.

"Well, I guess I don't have to worry about painting you anything then." Jaime raised his eyebrows playfully.

I clenched my jaw. I wasn't one to back down, but the thought of playing again caused my heart to drop. Jaime must've seen the resolve on my face because he asked, "Do we have a deal?"

Every fiber in my being screamed no, but I couldn't fight the grin that crept onto my face. "Deal."