A nod.
But her face tells me she’s not okay. Not yet. Though…maybe she’s getting there.
The past is still heavy. What I did still hangs between us, for all that she says she understands. The threat continues to loom.
And…well, I haven’t been giving her space.
Or maybe I have—in my own way.
Going into the office when I don’t need to so she has time to settle and a safe place to stay and River and Chrissy, Marie and Rory dropping by on the regular.
And kittens.
Though, I can’t reasonably take credit for that part.
Still, I haven’t tried to sweet-talk my way into her—my—bed. No intense kisses or stroking her gorgeous, naked skin. Just spending time together and with good people and carrying her into the bedroom every night after she falls asleep on my shoulder, dying a little inside when I tuck her beneath the covers and have to say goodnight.
And sleep down the hall.
Alone.
So maybe there’s beensomespace.
Space to find herself again. To understand she’s safe. To decide if she’ll be able to trust me.
Because Pascal was right about one thing—she needs time to heal.
Even if it kills me.
“I’m good,” she murmurs.
I touch her cheek. “Yeah?”
Her mouth hitches up. “If notgoodthen I’m at least getting there.” She shifts closer as Thorn cradles the kitten, walks into the kitchen, his expression unreadable as he watches River throw dinner together. “You?”
“Good. Though, I’m going to miss little Violet.”
She sighs. “I know. It’s not like taking care of them was planned, but it’s been a nice distraction from everything else going on.”
The chaos of a half-dozen kittens is certainly that.
“I’m sure Chrissy didn’t create this setup”—I wave a hand at the plethora of cat paraphernalia—“without the intention of foisting more kittens on us.”
Briar’s mouth quirks, but she doesn’t argue theus.
Which has me wanting to fist pump like an idiot.
“I think the kittens are just the gateway drug,” she says. “If Rory has her way, we’ll be watching dogs next.”
We’ll.
My heart leaps in my chest even though I keep it cool on the outside by just shrugging. “I’d be down with a dog or two.”
“In your apartment?” She swivels, as though assessing the space. “It’s plenty big, I guess, and the patio could work with one of those fake grass potty things. Taking them down in the elevator for walks and stuff would be annoying, though.”
“We could wait until we’re back at our house.”
She stills, her eyes coming to mine. “Ourhouse?”
