Page 96 of Suite 7

“Okay,” I say.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Take me to dinner.”

The relief that moves across his face is quick and real and he almost manages to conceal it. Almost.

“Saturday. Seven PM. I’ll pick you up.”

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere quiet. Where we can actually talk.” He reaches over and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers warm at my temple.

“Bossy even about dinner plans.”

“Some things don’t change.” The smile reaches his eyes.

He stands, drawing me up with him.

At the door he cups my face and kisses me — soft, nothing demanding in it. When he pulls back I’m not quite steady.

He looks at me for a moment, and whatever he was about to say gets swallowed, and then: “Saturday.”

Which is clearly not what he was going to say.

“Saturday,” I agree.

I stand in my doorway and watch him walk down the hall, hands in his pockets, shoulders easier than I’ve seen them in weeks.

When he’s gone I close the door and lean against it.

I’m going on a date.

18 Vera

Wednesday.

* * *

Maggio’s is warm and close, and Sloane is on her second glass of Barolo when she puts her fork down and looks at me the way she looks at things she’s been sitting with for longer than tonight.

“Okay,” she says. “I’m going to ask you something and I need you to actually answer me.”

My chest tightens. “Okay.”

“Gerald.” She folds her hands on the table, and even now, even with the careful look on her face, there’s a faint satisfaction in how she says the name — like she still can’t quite believe she has it. “I know you’re keeping him private. I know you have reasons. I’ve respected that.”

“You have,” I say. “I appreciate it.”

“But something’s shifted.” Her eyes hold mine. “Not with him. With you. You’re — managing something, Vee. And you manage things when they’re too big to just carry.” A pause. “Is it serious?”

My mind goes briefly to Kane at my door two nights ago, coffee cups in hand, color in his face.

“Yes,” I say. “It’s serious.”

“Are you happy?”

The question catches me sideways. Not because it’s hard — because it isn’t. “Yes.”