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He doesn’t let go of me the entire walk down the hallway and into the stairwell. Even when we get to the stairs, his touch shifts from my neck, down to hold my hand.

I don’t get a look at him until he steps ahead of me on the stairs to lead me down, but it’s only a partial view. His jaw is clenched, every muscle in his neck and shoulders tight. When we exit onto the street and reach his car, he opens the passenger door and motions for me to get in.

“Thanks,” I murmur awkwardly, only chancing a glance at his tense face. “You didn’t have to do that, but I appreciate it.”

“Have you dealt with that before?” he asks. He won’t meet my eyes, his gaze focused over my head. “You’ve been in this city for almost three weeks, has he been doing that the entire time?”

“Um… Not the entire time…”

He slaps his hand down on the top of his car with a hissed curse. Then after a moment, his eyes close and his head drops between his shoulders.

“Are you angry with me?” The quiet question slips out before I can think better of it.

At that, his head lifts, and his eyes meet mine. He doesn’t look angry anymore.

He sighs. “No, of course not. I just—” He swallows thickly. “I’m just glad you’re out of there, that’s all.”

His hand comes up to my face, as if to cup my jaw. But he never touches me.

Instead, he drops his hand and nods toward the passenger seat. “Let’s get you home.”

I don’t let myself think about the warm feeling that word fills me with.

NINETEEN

CHARLI

When we get back to Lucas’s apartment, we quickly unload his car, then wordlessly separate to different rooms to return to our work.

I wonder if we’re both trying to forget today happened.

It’s not just the way it ended; it’s also the sexual tension that came before that. This relationship with Lucas is not what I ever expected it to be. There’s so much more trust than I anticipated, both physically and emotionally.

It’s scrambling my brain. Because I didn’t think I could feel this way about anyone, let alone a corporate lawyer.

To distract myself, I throw myself into work. I’ve been spending all my time on Randall’s case recently, so I decide to open up some of my side work: a separate case in which a divorce lawyer hired me for a thorough sleuth on the husband. So, after I feed Milton and shower the day off, I put on my noise-canceling headphones, turn on a lo-fi music channel, crack a giant Redbull, and get to work.

Turns out, the husband had a lot to hide, so my research takes me late into the night. The next time I look up from my computer, it’s almost 3 a.m. and my neck is aching something fierce. With a wince, I roll my head and stretch my arms out.

The next thing that registers is how hungry I am. I haven’t eaten anything since lunch, and my stomach is making it known. I need sustenance, whether or not I’m turning back to work.

I dig through my bag first, searching for the peanut butter and jelly sandwich I threw in there after today’s pit stop at 7/11. Between that and the bag of chips I find at the bottom, I stave off the majority of the hunger pains.

But not all of them. Not enough to fight the urge to explore Lucas’s pantry and see what snacks he might be hiding.

Hopefully, it’s not just weird healthy stuff. Because even after seeing Lucas eat cannolis and homemade cinnamon rolls, I would bet that his career pushes the whole appearances matter thing.

Plus, that man’s body is too shredded to not be putting serious work into it.

I briefly debate getting dressed but eventually decide against it. Boy shorts and a tank top are fine for rummaging in the dark in the middle of the night. Maybe I should feel weird about taking his things without asking, but I figure he’s waved off my offers to pay one too many times.

Making sure Milton is still curled up asleep, I slip out of the bedroom and down the hallway.

Lucas’s pantry is a walk-in area off the side of the kitchen. The moonlight from the giant windows illuminates enough of the kitchen that I don’t need to turn my phone’s flashlight on until I slip inside the pantry. I debate turning on the overhead light, but I remember it being pretty bright, so I turn up the brightness on my phone and shine it over the shelves.

Well, apparently, I was right about the weird snacks. Because those are definitely quinoa chips. How does a man—a bachelor, at that—not have junk food? There’s no way⁠—

Bingo. There it is.