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Cillian's manners were generally excellent.

His wardrobe might require a separate discussion.

The thought made me smile as I reached for my phone.

His number was already saved among the Switchline contacts I'd needed for the assessment. I stared at it for a moment, aware that calling him now meant taking a step I couldn't blame on a costume, champagne, or Halloween excitement.

I was perfectly sober, sitting in my own apartment, and knew exactly whom I was calling.

I pressed the button.

Cillian answered after the second ring.

"Everly?"

There was a guarded warmth in his voice, and hearing it made me wish he were sitting beside me instead of across town.

"Hello, Cillian. I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"Nothing important."

I heard a faint rustle and what sounded like a chair moving.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes. Although I'm afraid dinner was a complete disaster. I've managed to ruin a grilled-cheese sandwich, and I've still got a substantial amount of mail scattered across the living-room floor."

"That sounds serious."

"It was. The sandwich never stood a chance."

His laughter was immediate and unexpectedly wonderful to hear.

"I wish I'd been there to witness it."

"I'm sure you do. Fortunately, there were no surviving witnesses."

He was quiet for a moment, and I could almost picture him smiling.

"Everly, I'm glad you called. I wasn't sure whether I'd hear from you again."

I looked down at the cream throw gathered beside me.

"I've been thinking about what you told me. There's still a great deal I need to understand, but I don't want to do all of it alone. Would you come over?"

He didn't answer immediately.

"To your apartment?"

"Yes. I'd like to see you."

There was a brief silence, then he said, "I'd like that very much. Are you sure you're comfortable with me coming tonight?"

"I wouldn't have asked otherwise."

"Fair enough."

I gave him the address and explained where he could park. He told me he'd be there shortly, and we ended the call.