“You know,” he said, voice dropping just enough to make my pulse jump, “if you wanted a redo of the dream, you could’ve just asked.”
I threw a pen at him.
He caught it effortlessly, still smiling. “Careful, James. That almost sounded like flirting.”
“Go file something,” I snapped, but my voice wasn’t half as sharp as it should’ve been.
Naomi's eyes flicked from him to me, lips curving into a sly little grin. “I’m gonna… go check the donor spreadsheet,” she said slowly. “In another building.”
“Naomi—” I started, but she was already backing toward the door, clutching her coffee like a lifeline.
“Good luck!” she sang, vanishing before I could form a rebuttal.
The silence that followed felt heavy and sharp all at once.
I turned to Beckett, narrowing my eyes. “You planned that.”
He raised both hands, feigning innocence. “I’m not that smart. But I’ll take the credit.”
I crossed my arms, glaring to cover the warmth creeping up my neck. “Of course you will.”
He grinned, leaning against the edge of the desk like he owned it. “Admit it—you’d miss me if I stopped showing up.”
“I’d sleep better,” I shot back, even though the truth was the opposite.
His smile tilted, softer now, less teasing. “You could use some sleep.”
For a second, neither of us spoke. The air between us stretched, something steady and unspoken pulling tight. His gaze lingered, not sharp this time—just warm and a little too knowing. I looked away first.
“Thank you,” I said finally, quieter than I meant to. “For getting us home. Seriously.”
He shrugged, like it was nothing. “You’re welcome. Next time, less tequila.”
“Next time, mind your business.”
He chuckled, that low, rumbling sound that somehow got under my skin. “You made it my business when you called me ten times.”
I groaned, covering my face with one hand. “You’re never letting me live that down, are you?”
“Not a chance.”
I peeked at him through my fingers. “You’re impossible.”
“Yeah,” he said easily, the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth. “But you like impossible.”
The bell above the door jingled, and I didn’t even have to look up because I was so focused on–
“Good morning!”
Kyle.
He walked in all golden energy and confidence, holding a takeout bag like it was a peace offering enough to erase the last few canceled plans. “Hey, you,” he said brightly. “Brought lunch. Can’t do dinner tonight — meeting will probably run late.”
Before I could even respond, I felt the air shift. Beckett, leaning against the counter near the supply shelf, went still — the kind of still that felt dangerous. Then, without a word, he grabbed a clipboard, muttered something about checking inventory, and disappeared down the hall.
I tried not to follow him with my eyes. Tried not to feel the strange hollow his absence left.
“Lunch sounds great,” I said, forcing a smile.
