Page 58 of The Cost of Silence

Hair piled on top of her head in a messy knot, bare feet tucked on the lower rung of the stool, laptop open in front of her. One of my hoodies hangs off one shoulder, sleeves too long, swallowing her hands. She’s frowning in concentration, lip caught between her teeth as she scrolls.

It hits me then.

Hard.

She looks like she belongs here.

Not like a guest, not like a problem.

Like a woman who might one day leave a coffee cup in the sink and a book on the arm of the couch and shoes by the door, and it wouldn’t feel like an intrusion.

It would feel like home.

She looks up the second the door opens, as if she felt me before she heard me. Her face softens. Just a bit. Just enough to make my chest ache.

“You’re back,” she says, voice a little breathless, like she’s been waiting.

Something eases between my shoulders.

“Of course I’m back,” I say. “I told you I would be.”

Her mouth does that almost-smile thing that makes me want to bite it. “How was the meeting?”

“Boring but useful.” I shrug out of my jacket, draping it over a chair. “We’re closing in.”

Her brows knit. “On who’s behind it?”

“On the shape of the game,” I say. “The names come next.”

She nods slowly, accepting that, even though I can see a hundred questions hiding behind her eyes.

Good.

We’ll get to them.

Right now, I want something else.

I walk toward her, slow, deliberate.

Her breath hitches.

“Did you get any work done?” I ask, nodding toward the laptop.

“A bit.” She turns the screen so I can see. “Cross-referencing what I remember from my notes with the companies Adriano mentioned. There are some overlaps. I made a list.”

Of course she did.

Her fingers brush the keyboard and I watch the way they move: sure, quick, capable. Those same fingers clutched my shirt last night in her sleep, like she was afraid I’d disappear.

“I’ll have Adi look at it,” I say. “You did good.”

She preens, just a little.

I like it more than I should. My girl has a praise kink, and I doubt she’s even aware of it.

Silence stretches between us, heavy with everything we didn’t say this morning.

My terms.