"Come eat," Dorian called out, his voice steady.

I stayed where I was, watching as he set the table with practiced ease. "Come on, give it a taste," he coaxed, turning toward me with an inviting look.

Under the soft glow of the dining room light, he looked so much like Ashton. His movements, the way he stirred the soup earlier—it all felt painfully familiar.

You can fake a lot of things, but those tiny, unconscious habits? The ones that slip out ...