"Good night."
Then he was gone.
I sat in the silence for a long time after.
The apartment felt different now. Fuller, somehow, even though he'd taken nothing with him.
His presence lingered in the displaced papers, the empty dumpling containers, the faint trace of smoke and soap that clung to my couch cushions.
I thought about the banter. The way his smile had transformed his whole face when I'd called him a cop.
The moment the room had gone quiet, and I'd thought, just for a second, that he was going to kiss me.
I thought about the food. How he'd looked at me when it arrived, soft and surprised, like he hadn't expected to be known anymore.
I thought about Pierce showing up. The way Garrett had risen from the couch, not aggressive, not jealous, just present. Ready.
Like he'd step between me and anything that might hurt me without even thinking about it.
And his face when I told him I'd said no. The relief he couldn't quite hide. The longing underneath it.
I'll text you when I'm off shift.
Like we were in our twenties again. Like the years between us had never happened.
In my living room was a box full of his documentation, his obsession, his years-long fight for justice.
And I couldn't pretend anymore that this was just professional. Couldn't pretend that working beside him didn't feel like coming home after almost a decade of wandering.
Twenty-four hours. I was already counting.
CHAPTER 8
Garrett
She's single.
The thought ambushed me somewhere between my first cup of coffee and my second, lodging in my brain like shrapnel.
I'd been replaying the night before, the way she'd grinned at me when she teased me about making a good cop, daring me to react. The moment the room had gone quiet and I'd almost…
I'd almost kissed her.
Sitting on her couch surrounded by case files and evidence of corruption, I'd looked at that smile and forgotten every reason I was supposed to keep my distance.
She'd looked away first. Asked what I wanted for dinner like nothing had happened.
Maybe nothing had. Maybe I'd imagined the whole thing.
But then she'd ordered beef and broccoli. Extra rice. Dumplings by the dozen.
My exact order from years ago, delivered without a single question. Like she'd kept a file on me somewhere in that cluttered apartment.
Then her ex showed up. Designer jacket. Expensive haircut. Looking at me like I was something he'd scraped off his shoe.
He'd stood in Sloane's apartment like he still had a claim to it. To her.
And then she'd told me about the proposal. The conditions.
