They disappear down the hallway. I laugh under my breath and Thorne looks at me, heat creeping up his neck, but he is holding in a smile. “Don’t say a word,” he warns me.
“I wouldn’t dare,” I bite on my bottom lip and then let it go. “Why’d you answer the door? Where is Patricia?”
“She needed the afternoon off.”
He takes in my jeans, my t-shirt with the wide collar sliding off my shoulder. His gaze snags there before turning to my face.
"You look good." The words are simple, honest, without the flirtation. "Really good." And there’s the touch of flirt. I like it. A lot.
"So do you." My gaze lingers on his arms, taking in the way his shirt pulls across his shoulders. “How was Quebec?”
“Lonely." He says it quietly, holding my gaze.
My heart stutters. "Thorne—"
"I'm glad you came." He steps back, gesturing deeper into the house. "Come on. I have that champagne I promised."
I follow him through the familiar halls, hyperaware of his presence, the way he moves with that easy confidence I've always found magnetic. We pass the billiard room. I don't look in, can't let myself remember what happened on that table, and head toward the kitchen.
Everything is pristine, all marble and stainless steel. The sun streaming through the windows gives the massive space a homey feel. He moves to the refrigerator and pulls out a bottle of champagne, the label catching the light.
"Veuve Clicquot," I read. "Fancy."
"Your firm opens in less than a month." He works the cork free with practiced ease, the pop echoing in the quiet kitchen. "That deserves the good stuff."
He pours two flutes, the bubbles rising in pale gold spirals, and hands me one. Our fingers brush, and heat blooms where our skin touches, spreading through my hand, up my wrist.
"To Ivy West, Environmental Law." He raises his glass, and there's pride and warmth in his eyes that make my throat tight. "To getting what you deserve."
"To new beginnings," I counter, because I need him to know I mean more than my firm.
“And to doing it right this time," Thorne adds.
Us. He's talking about us. The word that's been a quiet heartbeat between us for six weeks fills all my empty spaces.
We clink glasses. The champagne is perfect—crisp and dry with just enough sweetness. He watches me over the rim as he drinks, standing close enough that the counter between us feels more like a suggestion than a barrier.
"How does it feel?" he asks. "The firm. Your name on the door."
"Terrifying." I laugh. "Exciting. Like I might throw up and dance at the same time."
"That's how you know it matters." He takes another sip. “You're going to be damn good at it.”
“That's a lot of confidence."
"I've seen you work." He takes a step around the counter, eliminating half the distance between us. "You made the EPA back down on their timeline and cut costs by thirty percent. That's unheard of."
"They didn't—"
"They backed down on the timeline and cut the costs by thirty percent. That's an apology in government speak." He's close enough now that I can see the flecks of darker blue in his irises. His cedar-sharp scent wraps around me. My pulse hammers in my throat.
"What about you?" I ask. "How does it feel? Being back for good?"
"Yeah." He leans against the counter. “My place is here with my family.” He pauses, his gaze direct. “Near those I love.”
My heart jumps. The way he’s looking at me makes my heart believe I might be included in that small group.
But I’m too afraid to ask, so I ask a different question. "How's it been? With Sebastian?"
