Something familiar rose in my chest, sharp and old.
Candace crossed her arms. “And?”
He braced. “And I made her cry. Hurt her. Broke her trust.”
He looked at me. “And I regret every second of the pain it caused. I wish I could take it back. I hated seeing you hurt. But,” he continued, voice dropping, “I don’t regret reaching out. I don’t regret the connection we built. Not one word. And if making you believe I was someone else gave us that—then I’ll take every hit you need to throw. All of it.”
Candace’s eyes darted between us, tension humming through the room. Then she exhaled. “That’s… actually pretty romantic.”
I shot her a look. “That’s what I’ve been trying to explain.”
She studied him again—less suspicion now, more reluctant curiosity. “And you did save us from a mugging today.”
He laughed. “That’s generous.”
“Fine,” she amended. “You gave us a ride after the mugging.”
“That I’ll accept.”
Their laughter mingled, the tension finally easing its grip.
Then Damien’s phone buzzed. “Pizza’s here,” he said.
Candace perked. “Pizza?”
“Large cheese,” I reminded her.
“Perfect.”
Damien stood, stretching to his full height. “I’ll go grab it.” He paused. “Except… I don’t know your elevator code.”
“I’ll come with you,” I said, sliding into my slippers.
Candace’s jaw dropped—loaded with questions—but we slipped out before she could launch any.
The elevator chimed as we stepped inside, closing on the warmth of tea and cologne.
He shifted on his feet. “I’m still surprised you asked me up.”
“I am, too,” I admitted. “I’m still pissed. And hurt.”
“I know.” His voice stayed low, steady.
I nudged his elbow. “The pizza’s a good start.”
He blinked—almost startled. “Start?”
“Start,” I repeated. “We’ll see where it goes from there.”
Chapter 17
***
Emma
Candace eyed the pizza like it was communion. “This looks delicious.”
Damien slid a slice onto a plate and handed it to me. “Best pizzeria in New York. I go at least three times a week for lunch.”
