She also looked triumphant and entirely confident, as if she'd just won a battle.
Watching Samantha Morrison and Justin Walters squirm through dinner had been beautiful. Watching Nadia serve them with a cold, professional smile had been even better.
And watching her now, riding the high of victory, I felt it hit me like a freight train.
I was in love with her.
Not falling. Not halfway there. Completely, irrevocably in love with Nadia Becker.
The realization should have felt good. Should have been the type of thing worth celebrating.
Instead, terror crawled up my spine and settled in my chest.
Because the last time I'd loved someone this much, I'd failed her. My mom had died alone in a hospital while I was locked up, unable to even say goodbye. I'd made promises I couldn't keep, fought battles I couldn't win, and lost the only person who'd ever believed in me.
What if I failed Nadia, too?
"Daemon?" She appeared beside me, concern in her eyes. "You okay? You've been staring at that same box for five minutes."
"Yeah. Tired is all." I forced a smile. "It's been a long week."
"Tell me about it." She stretched, wincing. "But we won. They know we're not backing down."
"You won," I corrected. "That was all you."
"No." She caught my hand. "That was us. Together."
The word should have warmed me. Instead, fear tightened my gut.
Together meant she was counting on me. Trusting me. Expecting me to be there when things got hard. She squeezed my hand again before letting go.
I watched her work the room for another ten minutes. The calm authority of it, the way she moved from person to person without losing the thread. Her staff orbited her the way people orbit someone they trust as their center of gravity.
By the time the last crate was stacked, it was past eleven. Her team headed out, and we carried the last load to her van in the quiet parking lot, our breath visible in the November air.
She leaned against the van when we were done, tipped her head back, and looked at the sky.
"We actually did it," she said.
"You did it."
"Don't start." She turned her head to look at me, still smiling, the wide, unguarded version she didn't use often. "We did it. You and I and the entire town of Coogan's Break, and I'm not in the mood to be modest about it."
I leaned against the van beside her. Our shoulders were touching. "Then don't be."
"They had to sit there all night." She laughed, quiet and satisfied. "Samantha Morrison in her hundred-dollar-an-ounce perfume, eating my food and knowing exactly what that meant."
"She knew before the appetizers were cleared."
"I know." She let out a long breath. "I've been holding my breath since the health violation rumors started. Since I found out what they were actually doing. Tonight was the first time I actually believed we might be okay."
The parking lot was empty. The venue lights had gone to their overnight setting, and the only real light came from the streetlamps at the lot's edge, casting everything in amber that made Coogan's Break look like a film set after hours.
She turned to face me, and I turned to face her.
"Come here," I said.
She closed the distance without hesitation, which was new. She'd always moved toward me with a certain deliberateness before, as if she were making a considered decision rather than following an instinct.
