Ollie looks at me then, really looks. “They were,” he says softly.
My heart flips.
“With me,” he adds. “Not her.”
There’s no jealousy in it. No insecurity. Just clarity.
Vinny seals the items back into the box once he’s photographed everything. “I’ll take this down,” he says. “Chain of custody.”
“Thank you,” I reply automatically.
He pauses at the door. “You want additional detail posted overnight?”
Ollie answers before I do. “Yes.”
I glance at him.
He doesn’t hesitate. “Yes,” he repeats. “Lobby and perimeter.”
Vinny nods. “Done.”
The door closes behind him, and silence settles back into the loft.
The food is still warm. The salsa smells like lime and cilantro and the kind of life we were just inhabiting.
Ollie turns to me slowly. “All good?” he asks.
I consider the question. “I’m not scared,” I say honestly.
“Good.”
“I’m pissed.”
He nods once. “Fair enough.”
“And I’m not leaving.”
His eyes flicker. “Leaving?”
“Rachael suggested I head back to LA.”
His expression hardens slightly. “No.”
“No,” I agree.
We stand in the kitchen, the echo of intrusion still humming under the surface. Then Ollie steps into my space and cups the back of my neck. “She doesn’t get to stand in our kitchen,” he says quietly. “She doesn’t get to sit at our table. She doesn’t get to claim anything we built.”
The possessiveness in his tone is new. Not aggressive. Not territorial in a fragile way.
Grounded. Certain.
Mine.
I swallow.
“She’s not evil,” I say.
“No,” he agrees. “But she’s not our responsibility either.”
