The construction site is loud, even from the street. I text Tom when I arrive.
I'm here.
Be right down. I have to escort you up.
A minute later, he appears at the entrance, hard hat in one hand, a second one dangling from the other. He's smiling—that easy, familiar smile that still makes my stomach flip.
"Hey, you," he says, handing me the hard hat.
"Hey yourself." I strap it on, and he adjusts it slightly, his fingers brushing my cheek.
"Come on. We're going to forty."
We step into the construction elevator, and as soon as the gate clangs shut, he leans in to kiss me. Our hard hats collide with a loud clunk.
We both burst out laughing.
"Romantic," I say, grinning.
"I tried." He's still smiling as the elevator lurches upward.
When we reach the floor, he pulls the gate open, and I step out into open space—concrete floors, exposed beams, and floor-to-ceiling windows on every side.
"Wow," I breathe, turning slowly. "You can see everything from here."
Tom walks up beside me, gesturing toward the south. "That's your Harbor project."
I follow his gaze. The cranes, the framework, the beginnings of something massive. I've walked that site a hundred times, stood at ground level staring up at the skeleton rising from rubble. But from here—forty floors up, looking down—I'm seeing it the way Tom sees it. The way light will move through the corridors at different times of day. The way the waterfront sightlines connect to the grid.
"It's coming along," I say softly.
"It is." He's watching me, not the project.
I turn in a slow circle, taking in the three-sixty view. "This place is going to have stunning views."
"Yeah," he says quietly. "That's the idea."
I glance back at him. He's standing near a makeshift table with his laptop open, hands in his pockets. Something in his expression shifts—just slightly.
"So," I say, walking over. "What are you having trouble with?"
He gestures at the screen. "These shots. Tell me what you think."
I lean in, scrolling through the first image. It's a wide shot of the skyline, golden hour light catching the buildings just right. "This is beautiful. What's wrong with it?"
"Keep going."
The second shot is similar—another angle, same light. I frown. "Tom, these are gorgeous. I don't see the problem."
"Third one."
I click to the next image, and I blink at the screen. It's a close-up. Something small. Dark. I squint, leaning closer.
"What am I looking at?"
When I glance up, Tom's expression has changed. He looks—nervous.
"Why the close-up?" I ask slowly.
