And while I was imagining it, he was sleeping against my front door.
A rare smile lifts his lips as he types something into his phone before pocketing it again.
“Killian?” I ask as I walk over to the kitchen counter.
“No.”
A single, worded grunt from Denver shuts down any hope of conversation as his expression returns to stony seriousness. I steal small glances at him while turning on the coffee machine and gathering what I need from the cupboards. He stands statue-like, staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living area that offer an impressive view down Park Avenue.
“Okay, I’m ready.”
I slip on my shoes and reach down to clip Monty’s leash onto his collar, then pick up my two travel cups and walk over to Denver.
I hold one out to him. His eyes flick to it like it’s an unstable explosive.
“It’s the way you like it.” I move the cup closer, urging him to take it.
His long fingers curl around the sides, brushing mine.
“Black with a splash of vanilla… and stirred with an olive branch.”
His eyes meet mine, but I can’t tell if there’s amusement hiding in them. He’d win an award for the world’s best poker face.
“Thank you.”
He lifts my purse to carry, and my heart sinks as he moves toward the door, not saying anything else. I follow him out into the hallway, and he holds my purse and coffee in one hand as he pulls the door closed behind us.
“Is it okay?” I gesture toward the coffee.
He takes a sip, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his neck against his white collar.
“It is.”
“Okay then.” I shrug. He’s obviously someone who likes to stew after an argument. But it’s still an improvement. We’re up to two syllables.
I walk ahead of him with Monty and press the button for the elevator. We step inside the empty cart once it arrives, and I stare at the numbers going down on the display as we ride it to the lobby.
Denver clears his throat. “Vanilla?”
“You’re not the only one who pays attention,” I reply, not looking at him. I bite my tongue to stop myself from adding that in my case I’m not paid to notice, like he is. I just like to remember things about people. Like the way Molly’s face lit up when I gave her that first fruit sticker from the smoothie truck. And how Halliday loves crystals so much that I’m planning on taking her to this crystal themed restaurant in London as part of her bachelorette celebrations. And the way Denver has always ordered vanilla in his coffee whenever we’ve stopped to get one.
“We need to stop at the deli on the corner on the way,” I say breezily.
“Okay.”
His hand finds my lower back once the elevator doors open, like usual. Part of me wishes I’d never made the coffees at all so that I’d have a free hand.
Because a tiny part of me wonders if he’d hold it as tight as he did last night if he could.
9
DENVER
“You sure youdon’t want something to eat?” Sullivan asks as I sit at his kitchen counter.
I tear my gaze away from Sinclair, who is lying on the floor in the living area, caught in a fit of giggles with Molly. Monty barks excitedly at them, his tail whipping around as Molly pets him.
“No, thanks. I ate before Sinclair’s meeting.”
