Cece drops her bag near the couch and finally looks up. A barely there snort escaping her. “I guess. I did miss the mountains here, but Toronto has a… magic feel to it.”
“Howdareyou insult my city?” I grin and follow her toward the kitchen. I quickly catch her small, shy smile with my lips. “Did you at least get some good sushi?”
She nods as she pulls off her blazer and drapes it neatly on the back of a stool. “Oh, by the way! I drew up a preliminary risk profile for that Miller-Moore firm. Should be in your inbox. They look… promising.”
My hands pause on her arm mid-stroke. “You—what?”
Her brows twitch faintly. “The numbers were in front of me. And I had time during my flight. It was an easy lift.”
That’snotan easy lift. It’s something my entire team of analysts would need a week to deliver.
But I don’t say that. Instead, I scratch the back of my neck, forcing a shrug. “Right. Well. I’ll take a look, baby.”
She nods, then turns away like it is nothing. Like she didn’t just casually do what three Deloitte guys would charge two hundred grand for.
I grab two glasses and pour us some water while she moves easily around my space. “How was the flight? Found your favorite commercial flight coffee yet?” I try again, voice lighter this time.
“Not yet. The coffee was a good 6.5.” She puts her phone face-down on the counter, smiling. “Though the guy next to me snored the whole time. Maybe I could’ve pinched his nose closed.” She says it in such a serious tone that it earns a small laugh out of me.
I lean against the counter, watching her as she opens a cabinet, rummages for something, then pullsa small brown bag out of her carry-on. She doesn’t say anything—just quietly, slides it onto the shelf in one of my cabinets.
Then she perches on the edge of the stool, tucking her legs up. “So. Tell me everything I missed.”
I smile and sit across from her. “Well, my mother’s still convinced you’re‘uncouth’for liking your hair short, so that’s fun.” My use of air quotes brings a brilliant smile to her face.
“Sounds like I need a wig for our next event.” She mutters, her frame stiffening. But then she giggles a little.
“Only if you want, baby,” I say, rubbing my hand on her back. “Oh, and I almost died this afternoon, but only emotionally. This detective shit is absolutelynotmy thing.”
She tilts her head, still watching me like she’s trying to figure out how much of that was a joke. The edge softens, just a bit.
Her shoulders drop. “Wait… did your uncle Gareth mention the Coquitlam complex again? He’s not giving it up, is he?”
“Nope. He and my dad are constantly saying shit that barely makes sense,” I chuckle as I watch a deadpan look fall over her beautiful face.
Soon, we fall into something that resembles our easy rhythm. But it’s more… practiced now. Ever since I said thethree dreaded wordsto her two months ago, she seems to be pulling back.
Or maybe it’s all in my head.
Still, I take it. I reluctantly take whatever pieces she’ll give me. Even if she doesn’t say those words first, even if she hasn’t initiated a kiss since she got back this afternoon—she created that damn riskprofile.
And maybe that says more than I think? Does it? I don’t fucking know anymore.
Later, Cece leans her cheek against her knuckles, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. “Technically,” she murmurs, “I hated being away from Vancouver for a whole week.”
Technically. Away fromVancouver, notme.
It’s such a Cece phrase. Precise. But only if you peel it back just right, there’s always more.
I move to refill my glass and feel the lightest tug at the hem of my shirt. It’s instinctual, the way I turn—arms already moving.
I gather her in my arms. Her legs curl tighter on the stool, arms sliding around my waist, face pressing against my chest like she’s tucking herself into me.
I rest my chin on the crown of her head. “I missed you, baby. Vancouver missed you, too.”
She doesn’t say anything. Not with words. But her fingers tighten around the back of my shirt.
My arms flex a little, pulling her closer, and I risk those words again—my chest tight. “I love you.”
