“For you.”My brow pinches together.“It’s safer.”
A quiet exhale leaves her, something thoughtful in it.“Some things don’t change.”
“No.”Not the ones that matter.I don’t say that part out loud.
The city moves around us in its usual rhythm; cars passing, distant voices, the low hum of movement that never really stops, but none of it presses in.She matches my pace easily, not adjusting, not compensating, just walking beside me like it’s something she’s done a thousand times before.
“How’s the band?”she asks after a moment, her tone light, but not careless.
“Busy.”I pause just a second before expanding.“We’re recording.”
“You’ve all done well.”
“It’s what we wanted.”I shrug, because honestly, it’s what Luc wanted, but once I was on the ride, it just made sense to stay on.
“And you got it.”There’s no judgment in it.No edge to her tone.She’s simply stating the facts.
“You don’t sound surprised.”
“I’m not.”A small glance in my direction.“You were never the kind of person who aimed low.”
“That hasn’t changed.”
“I didn’t think it had.”One side of her mouth tilts up, but it’s not a smile.
We reach the corner, pausing briefly as the light shifts, the crosswalk opening in front of us.She steps forward first.I follow half a step behind, my hand hovering just slightly at her back without making contact.Old habits.We don’t speak again until we’re halfway down the next block.The quiet isn’t uncomfortable.If anything, it feels deliberate.
“You didn’t ask me what I’ve been doing.”Her gaze forward, not turning to look at me.
“I was going to.”I was, at the restaurant.I didn’t plan for the small talk required during the walk.
“Were you?”She cocks her head to look up at me, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
“Yes.”
Another small pause.“Then ask.”
I glance down at her again, measuring the tone, the space she’s giving me, the way she’s letting me think I’m the one setting the pace.
“What have you been doing the last decade, Vanessa?”
The smile on her mouth grows a tad wider.Not because of the question.Because of how I asked it.“I built a life that fits me,” she states simply.
“That’s vague.”
“It’s true.”
I don’t push.Not yet.“Are you happy?”I ask instead.
Her answer comes without pause.“Yes.”
That lands because the lack of hesitation tells me she means it.It’s clean and without doubt.I’m not sure what I was expecting her answer to be, but I don’t think I expected it to be that absolute.
We reach the restaurant a moment later, the understated exterior giving nothing away to anyone not looking for it.Inside, everything shifts seamlessly.A host steps forward, recognition immediate, the reservation confirmed without question.
“Mr.Sloane, welcome.”
I nod once.
