Bree snorted. “That should be on a T-shirt.”
He pocketed the phone. “You okay?”
She thought about Vic. About mysterious parking-lot meetups and illegal bottles and cash in duffel bags. About the way Diaz’s eyes had sharpened when she looked at Bree outside the warehouse.
“I don’t enjoy being on anybody’s radar,” she said. “But I like the idea of pretending nothing’s wrong even less.”
“Then we stay aware,” Hank said. “We put cameras where they should’ve been years ago. We keep in touch with Diaz. We don’t let fear drive the bus.”
She frowned. “That’s a terrible metaphor.”
He grinned. “You knew what I meant.”
She chuckled. “I did.”
They stepped out into the sunlight. The harbor glittered; gulls wheeled and complained overhead. Across the street, a dark SUV idled at the curb before pulling away. Hank watched it for a beat, attention narrowing, then relaxed when it turned toward the highway instead of the industrial district.
“Problem?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “Habit.”
He looked down at the folder in his hand, then back at her. “So. You still in?”
Bree thought about her parents’ voices on the phone. The relief under the worry. The way her mom had said, “We always tell her, you said hi."
She pictured the warehouse, dust motes in the air, the view of the water through the cracked upstairs window. Hank’s hand in hers as she’d imagined easels and canvases and people climbing the stairs to see what she made.
“I told my parents I was,” she said. “I’m not walking that back.”
He smiled slowly, warmth softening his features. “Good. Because I just promised a mayor and a contractor that James Performance is going to be more than a temporary sticker on the door.”
She laughed. “We’re really doing this.”
“Yeah,” he said. “We are.”
He lifted the folder slightly, like a toast, then leaned down and kissed her right there on the civic center steps. It was not the desperate, I might never get to do this again kind of kiss. It was steady and sure, the kind that tasted like commitment and morning coffee.
Across the street, someone honked and whooped. A kid’s voice shouted, “That’s the Cup guy!”
Bree smiled against Hank’s mouth.
“Fame is exhausting,” she murmured.
“It has perks,” he said.
They broke apart reluctantly.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go show Brian and Colby the numbers so they can tell me all the reasons my timeline is too aggressive.”
“And I’ll tell you all the reasons it’s not aggressive enough,” she said.
He chuckled. “I look forward to the arguments.”
They walked down the steps side by side, their footsteps finding an easy rhythm as they headed toward the future they had just nudged a little closer into focus.
Chapter 16
Hank walked Bree down the steps of the civic center, their hands still linked, the folder with the city’s proposal tucked under his arm. The harbor glittered like someone had scattered broken glass across the water. A gull screamed overhead, offended about something only gulls understood.
