“Me too.”
She tilts her head, playful but curious. “What would you be doing if you weren’t here tonight? Passing out candy to the trick-or-treaters who knock on your penthouse door?”
I huff out a laugh. “I never get any of those on my floor.”
“What about your sister? Would you be spending time with Rosie?”
I shake my head. “She’s got her own place in the city. I probably wouldn’t be doing anything if I wasn’t here tonight.”
She rolls her lips between her teeth, eyes glinting like she's about to cry. I fucking love the fact that she wears her feelings so proudly for all to see. Coming from a man who's been trained to never show emotion since it equates to weakness, I see now I've been dead wrong about that.
Emotion means connection, and each time Rhiannon shows me how she feels, I feel closer to her.
“That’s sad.”
And fuck, it is. Hearing her say it makes it worse somehow because she’s right. For all the money, all the work, all the so-called success, I’ve built a life full of nothingness.
“What did you do as a kid for the holiday?” she asks.
“Ah,” I say, smiling faintly. “You’re going to think I’m some sort of lame suit if I tell you.”
Her fingers slide up to the back of my neck, playing with the short hair there, and I swear my pulse stutters. She’s so unguarded right now. Open. And it’s always been like that between us, hasn't it? That’s what has me addicted to her. The transparency. The trust even if we were lying to each other when we first met.
"I already think that" she teases, but instead of it landing as a joke in the past, now I want to show her there's more to me. That I'm not all boardrooms and bank accounts.
“Hey, I don’t actually think you’re a lame Suit,” she says softly as if she's reading my mind. “I actually think we have a lot incommon. We both work hard and care about our family. I simply think our priorities are vastly different. Ourlivesare different.”
“You think I’m not your type?”
Her fingers still against the back of my neck. Her gaze lifts to mine. “I don’t think I have a type.”
“Because having a type means you’re considering more than one option?”
She shakes her head. “No. Because I don’t want to date.”
“Why not?”
Her sigh is small but weighted. “I don’t have the time. I’m busy. I need to stay focused. My family’s depending on me. I'm a therapist, I know relationships take a lot of work or they suffer, and I can't handle another job. Relationships are a job.”
She says it casually, but there’s a quiet ache underneath. And maybe it’s the selfish part of me that wonders if that’s all just an excuse. If what she really means is she doesn’t want to dateme.
I clear my throat and try to shift the conversation into vulnerability for me. Because the truth is, Rhiannon doesn't know all that much about me.
Maybe she doesn’t want to date me because she doesn’t really know me. And maybe that's because I haven't wanted her to know anything because there isn’t much good. But if I open, she'll at least have a choice to make about what she learns.
“So, what have I done for Halloween in the past? Nothing. My mom left me and Rosie when we were kids. Remarried and moved overseas with her new husband pretty much immediately. My dad buried himself in work and hired nannies to raise us while he built his company and brand.”
She goes still, eyes searching mine, softening just a little. “I’m sorry. Did that make you sad that you missed out on a normal childhood?”
I shrug. “I didn’t know any better. It just… was what it was. It was normal for us. I guess looking back now I wish I could have experienced all the holidays and rituals as a kid that we missed, but there’s no point in focusing on the past.”
Her gaze stays on me, careful and gentle. “I used to take Eden trick-or-treating with Gabriel every year after our parents died. I didn’t want her to miss out.” She pauses, her voice soft. “I’m sorry you didn’t have someone to do that for you. I'm sorry you don't have those memories.”
And fuck, that hits harder than it should. Like she’s seen a piece of me no one’s ever bothered to look at. Before today, I would have brushed that off.
Before I can say anything, she brightens suddenly, tugging on my hand. “Come on,” she says, smiling wide.
“Where are we going?”
