“You really do. It’s very broody.” She kissed his jaw. “But I’m learning to read it. Learning when to push and when to give you space.”
“And which is this moment?”
“This is a pushing moment.” She pulled back to look at him. “You’ve been quiet since we got back. What’s on your mind?”
Carson sighed and led her to the couch—the new one they’d bought together, comfortable and modern and theirs. “I’m nervous about going back to work Monday. About leaving you alone while I’m on shift.”
“Carson, Eugene is in prison. Dan is in prison. I’m safe.”
“I know. Logically, I know that. But after everything that happened...” He ran a handthrough his hair. “What if there’s something we missed? Someone else connected to Eugene? What if—”
“Stop.” She took his face in her hands. “We can’t live in what-ifs. Eugene is locked up. The people who helped him escape are all arrested. There’s no one else. We’re safe.”
“You can’t know that for certain.”
“No, I can’t. But I also can’t live in fear forever. And neither can you.” She held his gaze. “You taught me that. You showed me how to be brave. How to trust. How to live instead of just surviving.”
“When did you get so wise?”
“I’ve always been wise. You just weren’t paying attention.”
He kissed her then, soft and slow, pouring his worry and love and hope into the contact. When they broke apart, some of the tension had left his shoulders.
“You’re right,” he said. “I’m catastrophizing. The captain would say I’m projecting past trauma onto present situations.”
“The captain sounds like he’s been reading psychology textbooks.”
“His wife’s a therapist. He picks up things.” Carson pulled her closer. “But he’s right. I need to trust that it’s really over. That you’re really safe. That we get to just...live now.”
“We do get to live. Together. In this apartment with the new couch and your terrible coffeemaker.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my coffeemaker.”
“It’s held together with duct tape. Like your old couch,” she pointed out.
“That’s how you know it’s reliable.”
She laughed and settled against him, and they stayed like that for a while, just holding each other, both adjusting to this new normal.
***
Monday morning came too quickly.
Carson was up at five-thirty, moving quietly so he wouldn’t wake Nora. But she woke anyway, conditioned by weeks of hypervigilance to register any movement.
“Sorry,” Carson said when he saw her eyes open. “Go back to sleep. You don’t have to be up.”
“I want to be. First day back at work for both of us. Well, your work. My job applications and business planning.”
She’d submitted her resignation to Morrison & Associates on Friday. Two weeks’ notice, professional and brief. She’d start her consulting business while job hunting, giving herself options and flexibility.
They had breakfast together—Carson’s terrible coffee and toast Nora made because Carson would burn it, one basic skill that had apparently missed him.
“Nervous?” Nora asked as Carson put on his shoulder holster.
“A little. Haven’t been away from the job for two weeks since the academy.” He checked his weapon with practiced efficiency. “Feels weird going back.”
“You’ll be fine. You’re Carson Black, super detective. You’ve got this.”
