Officially, my title was Director of Strategy at the Lowcountry Justice Initiative—a nonprofit coalition that worked with city councils, school boards, and law enforcement oversight committees to implement violence prevention programs. Unofficially, I was a fixer with a moral code. A policy whisperer. A translator between rage and legislation.
I’d built my reputation on being calm while other people panicked.
I was the one who could sit across from a police chief and a community organizer in the same room and keep them from tearing each other apart.
I was the one who knew how to make money move.
How to make language soften hard men.
How to take violence and turn it into something you could put on a spreadsheet.
That was the version of me the world trusted.
But there was another version.
Cecilia, under Lia’s skin, listening to her own hunger like it was an animal in a trap.
And that hunger had been getting louder.
On New Year’s Eve, Harper insisted I come downtown with her—just the two of us, a girls’ night, because “you’ve been weird lately,” which was Harper-speak forI can see you unraveling and I won’t let you do it alone.
We went to a rooftop bar overlooking the harbor. Charleston wind cut between buildings, cool enough to justify Harper’s faux-fur coat and my long wool wrap coat that made me look like I belonged in a political drama.
Harper leaned into me at the bar, her lipstick sharp, her eyes too knowing.
“Okay,” she said. “Talk.”
“What?” I took a sip of champagne, bubbles hitting my tongue like tiny pinpricks.
“You’ve been … twitchy.” She made a vague gesture at my face. “Like you’re always waiting for someone to jump out and scare you.”
I laughed too quickly. “I’m just tired.”
“No.” Harper’s eyes narrowed. “This isn’t tired. This is …” She lowered her voice. “This is horny.”
I nearly choked.
“Harper.”
She grinned. “Lia Quinn, the woman who can stare down a mayor, just got flustered.”
“I did not.”
“You did.” She clinked her glass against mine. “So. Who is he?”
“There is no he.”
Harper arched one brow, unimpressed.
I stared at the crowd instead—people laughing, leaning close, swaying to music that felt too loud and too happy. Couples were already claiming each other, hands low on backs, mouths too close.
My body registered it all like hunger.
Harper followed my gaze. “Okay. So there’s no he … yet. But there’s something.”
I swallowed, throat tight. If I told her, it would become real. It would become something I couldn’t take back.
And I couldn’t have that. Not with Harper. Not with anyone.
