Page 134 of A Million To Fall

“It’ll be fine. I don’t think we’ll be gone that long.”

“Okay, if you say so.” He shifts into reverse. “Alright, direct me.”

“Make a left onto the street and head south.”

We ease into traffic, and the silence between us is warm and weightless. “So,” I say, because apparently I’m incapable of leaving well enough alone, “did you survive Mrs. Davis’s girls’ night yesterday?”

I laugh quietly, picturing Boston rolling his eyes while a bunch of wine-drunk housewives take over the Davis living room.

But his voice comes out tight. “How… how do you know about girls’ night?”

“Oh, Mrs. Davis invited Archer’s mom when we were at the spa Wednesday. They both seemed pretty excited.”

“Archer’s mom?”

I look at him, trying to figure out why he suddenly sounds like he ate sand.

“Yeah. Stella Longfellow. I guess those girls’ nights are kind of legendary. Archer’s mom said she heard about them from someone else, and then she brought it up with Mrs. Davis. Do they play poker or something? They were talking about a buy-in.”

Silence stretches between us while Boston stares at the road ahead of him, unblinking, jaw and brow tense.

“Boss?”

A beat. Then he finally blinks. “Yeah. Sorry, I honestly… I don’t know if Archer’s mom was there. I’ve never met her before, so… and I worked late. Got back to the house, took a shower, and just went to bed.”

I frown at how forced the casualness in his voice sounds. “Okay, well, it’s not that important. I was just curious.”

“Tell me about your spa day,” he says without looking at me. “Like, what do you do there?”

I oblige and tell him all about my massage, the sauna and steam room, occasionally interrupting this riveting recital with directions—right at the light, straight, then left. Until we pull up to a sleek gated apartment complex.

“Hit zero, zero, nine, pound,” I tell him when we reach the keypad.

He punches it in, then watches as the gate swings open. “Where are we?”

“You’ll see. Make a right into the parking lot. Pull in there.”

Boston parks, cuts the engine, then meets me on the sidewalk.

I lead him down the path toward a modern apartment building edged in bright green foliage. He follows without protest, his gaze moving to take in his surroundings.

I stop in front of unit seven and fish a silver key from my pocket. I press it into his palm. “Can you unlock the door, please?”

Boston blinks at the key, then me. Then back at the key.

“Stormy,” he says slowly. “Where are we?”

“Just open it,” I say, heart thundering.

He studies me for another second like he’s trying to determine whether I’ve completely lost my mind.

Then he huffs. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he mutters.

Heat floods my cheeks, but before I can respond Boston unlocks the door—admittedly hesitant, like he’s expecting to be met by a wailing alarm.

He holds the door open for me and I step inside first.

The apartment’s bright and airy, sunlight spilling through large windows onto carpeted floors. Neutral walls. New appliances. A small living room and even smaller kitchen area.