His lips twitched. “Don’t spread it around.”
“Judy would melt. No promises,” she whispered.
He turned serious. “If I had to do it over again, I’d still walk into that garage.”
Emotion tightened her throat.
His gaze held hers. “I’d still take the bullet.”
“Vince…” Barely a whisper.
He brought her hand to his lips. “To have you here with me, I’d do it twice.”
Her eyes stung. The memory remained far too vivid—the pain, the terror, and the hollow ache that followed.
Without a word, she leaned in, her lips meeting his. He kissed her back, lost in the moment, neither of them caring that they were in a public park.
When she pulled away, he looked overly pleased with himself, his smile too wide. “You’ve been saving that line,” she accused.
“I meant every word, but it worked better than I thought.”
“You are impossible,” she said, equal parts exasperation and amusement.
“So I’ve been told.”
His arm settled comfortably across the back of the bench behind her. Traffic rolled past on the street. A dog barked somewhere in the distance. Ordinary sounds. Things she’d once taken for granted.
“How’s the house coming?” he asked.
She groaned. “Slow.”
Contractors had started the demolition. Next would come drywall, flooring, and kitchen cabinets ruined during Gruzinsky’s visit. Every time she thought they were making progress, someone discovered something else that needed repair.
“It’ll get there.”
“Maybe.”
The problem wasn’t the repairs. It was the memories. She loved her little house. But she wasn’t sure it would ever feel quite the same.
Vince seemed to understand.
“You know,” he said casually, “you could just stay at my place.”
She turned toward him. “I am staying at your place.”
“Precisely.”
A reluctant smile tugged at her lips. He wasn’t wrong.
Since leaving the hospital, she’d spent every night at his house. Partly because hers didn’t have a secure front door and a functioning kitchen. Mostly because neither of them had wanted to sleep apart.
If she were being honest, she’d grown attached to the arrangement. So had Whiskers.
The cat had claimed the enormous picture window overlooking Vince’s backyard. Every morning he perched there like a king surveying his kingdom: birds, squirrels, the occasional rabbit. Hours of feline entertainment.
Cat TV, Vince called it. Whiskers seemed to agree.
“He won’t want to leave when the house is done,” she warned.
