I told myself it wasn’t a date. Just… information gathering. Clarification. A truce. Right. Sure.
He wanted me to say yes.
And part of me wanted to say no.
Because saying yes meant opening a door that might not close again. And I’d spent years learning how to lock things tight. The locks and bolts, and chains might as well be rusted over by now.
But the truth? I was tired of locks.
Tired of being lonely and angry.
So, I typed:
Fine. But if you bring me flowers, I’m kicking you out.
He sent back a thumbs-up. Then a second text:
Harlan
You like tacos?
I rolled my eyes and muttered, “God help me,” into the room.
Which earned me a rare Remi cackle.
She made her way over and grabbed my phone without permission.
“What kind of psychopath doesn’t like tacos?” she demanded, then tossed it back at me.
“Probably Sergeant Voss.”
Remi wrinkled her nose in disgust, and I tried and failed to kick her away.
Then I stared back down at the phone in my lap and the not-date date I had somehow just agreed to.
I replied with a thumbs-up emoji and sighed.
Because the walls were still up. Reinforced. Concrete and steel.
But I was letting someone knock on the front door.
And that scared the hell out of me.
Don’t fall. Not yet.
Just lean a little closer to the edge.
But don’t fall.
CHAPTER 22
HARLAN - BE PATIENT WITH ME
I brought tacos.
Not fancy ones either. Not the artisan kind with pickled slaw and mango chutney, just the kind from the truck with the dented side panel and a line that wrapped around the block on Friday nights.
Ava raised one eyebrow when she saw the brown paper bag in one hand and an assortment of chocolate bars in the other.
