Lucas scowled. “What makes you think he’s considering it now?” No way would Riley confide any such intelligence to Rainey. Or anybody else.
Rainey said succinctly, “I saw his face when he walked out of his office.”
Lucas felt that punch land right in the center of his chest.
“Timing is everything,” Rainey added, in case he actually was completely obtuse.
Lucas nodded tersely.
She departed, quietly closing the door to Lucas’ office behind her.
Lucas reached for the phone—but hesitated.
He needed to get this right. After a moment of nervously drumming his fingers on his desk, he reached for the yellow legal pad in his top drawer. Yes. If he could organize his thoughts, he could propose his plan of action to Riley.
He could propose…
Lucas tapped his black ball point pen on the lined empty sheets for a moment or two, and then began to write.
Dear Riley,
I don’t know if I’m writing this because I expect to give it to you, or because I’m better on paper than in real life. (That’s supposed to be a joke, but you know what I mean.)
The main thing I want to tell you is I love you. I know you know that, and it’s probably not the main point now. (Although it still feels like the main point to me.)
I shouldn’t have turned your disappointment and frustration with the vacation situation into an ultimatum. I shouldn’t have turned your request for vacation time together into a situation. It was a reasonable request.
You’re right. I’m not good at taking time off. It’s not that I think the office will crumble without me, though it might. (That’s another joke, for the record). And you’re also right that it’s probably about control. Partly. And maybe partly the jobistied to my understanding of who I am? But mostly, I just enjoy working. Up until you came along, I probably enjoyed working more than anything else. I got out of the habit of vacations. I got out of the habit of taking time off. Work was my life and that was fine by me. But if itisover between us, my biggest regret will be not spending more time with you.
I’m not good at expressing my feelings. I’m not good at feeling my feelings. But I’m truly sorry for any pain I caused you. I’m truly sorry I failed to put you first because, for me, you do come first. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. More than I thought I was capable of. For a long time, you’ve been the most important thing to me. I don’t know why I didn’t try harder to show it. Or maybe I do. But asking me to prove that our relationship was a priority was not asking for too much. It was probably the minimum.
Everything you said before is true for me as well. It’s hard to think about a future where you’re not in it.
I want you to know that I do believe having a relationship with you is more important than my job. And if I had to choose, I would choose you. No question. I should be telling you this in person, so I’ll stop here.
I love you.
Lucas
Irrelevant, Really
But old habits die hard.
It was after four by the time Lucas felt comfortable leaving the office. Last one out, he turned off the lights, considering the silhouettes of tidily arranged desks and chairs, unlit string of Christmas lights draped across the silent bullpen, then stepped through the security door and made his way down the hall to the back entrance.
As the outer door closed behind him, he drew a deep, bracing breath of snow-scented air. Officially, the office was closed for the next four days, but as the agent on duty, he’d probably look in once or twice.
He waffled a little over picking up some kind of a peace offering, but given his hitherto undiscovered talent for turning tokens of affection into the opening salvo of mortal combat, maybe it was better to stick to the script.
Accordingly, he headed straight for Riley’s.
The complex wasn’t much to look at by daylight, but in the early dark of a mountain December, with a dusting of snow along the gabled roofs and soft golden light glowing behind most of the windows, it had the quiet appeal of a Christmas card. Rustic but well-maintained: timber accents, stonework planters, a couple of decorative pine trees wrapped in white lights out front. The kind of place that said “seasonal rental” in summer and “ski weekend crash pad” in winter. Not luxury, but nice. Comfortable. It suited Riley: warm, practical, unpretentious.
In Lucas’ opinion, his chalet suited Riley better. But still.
He parked in the visitor lot beneath a flickering lamppost and sat for a moment, watching the snow flurries circling the lamp like moths. Above him, Riley’s window was dark.
He hadn’t considered the unwelcome possibility that Riley might not be home.
