14.0
Rittenhouse in early evening had a way of making the city look softer than it deserved.
The sky was washed with pale orange, light catching on glass high-rises before dipping down into the square, where everything slowed—dog walkers, couples, students on benches with books they weren't reading.
It wasn't the kind of place I came often.
But she was here, and that was enough to make me feel like I belonged.
Amira kept her hands tucked into the sleeves of her cardigan, like she was guarding herself from me more than the breeze. Every so often, her eyes darted to mine, then away again. Reserved, careful, but she hadn't bolted—and that was something.
"You always walk this fast?" I asked, matching my stride to hers.
"I wouldn't have to if you didn't drag your feet." She gave me a side glance, quick, sharp. A crack in her armor.
I smiled, slow and deliberate. "You're like a foot and half smaller than me I can't even take a full step when walking with you."
She didn't bother replying, but the corner of her mouth twitched. That was the thing with her—most people gave me their full laugh for free. She made me work for scraps, and it still felt like gold.
Silence stretched between us, not uncomfortable exactly, but heavy. I used to love that about us. Now it just reminded me how close she was to pulling away.
I broke it before she could. "So. Kian."
Her eyes flicked over, cautious. "What about him?"
"What about him?" I echoed, tone easy, like we were just talking weather. "Where'd that start?"
"Why do you need to know?"
I slipped my hands into my coat pockets, casual, shoulders loose. "I don't. Just curious. You know me—I like to know what I'm up against."
That earned the smallest huff of air, halfway to a laugh. Progress.
"We're not serious," she said, clipped but clear.
I nodded, slow. "I already know that. I was hoping for some more detail."
That broke her composure—real laughter, sudden and sharp. She tried to bite it back, which only made it better.
"You're ridiculous," she said.
"And yet, you're laughing."
She shook her head, looking away, but her smile lingered. A little victory.
I let her walk a few steps ahead again, eyes on the cardigan sleeves she kept tugging down over her hands. Defensive. Guarded. But she was here, next to me, not running. That counted for more than she knew.
"Relax," I said finally, tone dropping, more deliberate. "I'm not looking for a life story on the kid. Just wanted to hear you say it's nothing."
Her gaze slid to mine, sharp again. "And if it wasn't?"
"Then he's got a problem," I said simply. No smile, no joke. Just truth.
Her breath caught, and for a second she didn't answer. Then she turned away, pretending to watch pigeons scatter across the path. "You haven't changed."
"Neither have you," I said. "That's why we're still here."
That landed heavier than I meant it to. She stiffened, shoulders squared, the wall snapping back up.
I smoothed it over with a grin. "But hey, if things actually are serious and you're just not telling me let him know he has some serious competition."
That got me another reluctant laugh, muffled behind her hand.
God, I loved when she slipped.
She tilted her head, the guarded look back in her eyes. "Funny. You ask me about Kian, but I haven't asked you about Margot."
The name hung there, heavier than it should've.
I slid my hands deeper into my coat pockets. "What about her?"
"What's that like?" Her tone wasn't curious. It was clipped, like she already knew the answer and wanted to hear me fumble it.
I let a beat stretch, watching her fingers tug the cardigan sleeve lower over her wrist. "It's fine," I said at last. The word felt thin in my mouth. "Predictable."
Her eyebrows rose, just a fraction. "Sounds fun."
I smirked, but there wasn't much behind it. "Depends on your definition."
She gave a small shake of her head, like she'd confirmed something she already suspected and that stung more than I wanted it to.
Her eyes narrowed just slightly, voice quieter now. "Have you two...?" She trailed off, like she regretted asking as soon as the words left.
I caught the pause, the way her mouth pressed together. I knew exactly what she meant.
I shook my head once, steady. "No."
The word came out firmer than I expected. I let a breath out, softer. "Not for lack of her trying."
Her brows rose, sharp, but she didn't push. I could almost see the flicker pass through her—relief, maybe, laced with something she didn't want me to catch.
I added, "That's not what we are. Never has been."
She blinked at me, and for a second I thought she might actually say what was written all over her face. Instead she looked down, tugging her cardigan tighter around herself.
We looped the square twice before she slowed near the fountain, brushing a curl behind her ear like she'd just remembered the time.
"I should head back," she said, voice steady but too quick, like she was cutting something off before it started.
"Back where?" I asked, easy.
She looked at me sideways. "Don't start."
I lifted both hands in mock surrender. "Just trying to be a gentleman. Monte can drop you."
Her laugh was short, disbelieving. "Right. Because you're suddenly concerned about my commute."
"Always have been," I said smoothly. "But sure, call it what you want."
She shook her head, biting back a smile. "You can't fool me. That's just your way of finding out where I live without having to stalk me."
"Wouldn't call it stalking," I said.
"Brooks." She leveled me with that look—the one that used to freeze me mid-step years ago. "You're not finding out where I live."
I smirked. "Can't blame a guy for trying."
Before she could answer, headlights cut across the path. Monte pulled the car up to the curb, rolling the window down with his usual grin. "Evening, Ms. Amira. Long time."
She leaned down, smile blooming warm, genuine. "Monte. Still putting up with him?"
Monte laughed. "Somebody's gotta." He glanced at me in the mirror, amusement written all over his face.
I gave him a look that said easy. He only grinned wider.
"Want a ride, Ms. Amira?" Monte asked.
"She's good," I cut in before she could speak. "She was just telling me how much she loves public transit."
Amira straightened, eyebrows up. "Was I?"
"Yeah," I said, nodding solemnly. "You were very convincing."
Monte snorted, shaking his head before rolling the window up. "I'll wait."
He pulled the car forward a few feet and parked.
And just like that, it was just us again, the square thinning out as the evening deepened. The orange glow of the streetlights softened everything—her hair, her eyes, the set of her shoulders.
She shifted on her feet, arms crossed tight. "You really haven't changed that much."
"Good or bad?"
Her silence was answer enough.
I stepped closer, not crowding, just close enough to feel the shift in the air. "You can't keep acting like we're strangers, Amira."
She looked away, jaw tight. "We are strangers."
"No." My voice was quiet but firm. "That's the one thing we'll never be."
For a beat, neither of us moved. The city blurred behind us—horns, footsteps, laughter—and all I could see was her. The same face I'd replayed in a thousand empty rooms, the same eyes that never left me, even when she did.
I should've stopped there. Should've let her walk away with her guard intact. But restraint had never been my strong suit.
I reached out, brushed my knuckles along her sleeve. Nothing reckless—just a touch, testing.
She inhaled sharp, eyes flicking up to mine.
"You shouldn't," she whispered.
"Maybe not," I said, voice low. "But you're here. I'm here and we both know it doesn't stop at shouldn't."
Her lips parted, like she had a reply but lost it halfway.
I leaned in—not enough to trap her, just enough so she'd know the choice was hers. For a second, I thought she'd push me back. Instead, she stayed.
And when I kissed her, it wasn't new. It was the same mistake, again. Familiar and reckless and every bit as dangerous as the last time.
She broke away first, glancing around like the trees might be hiding cameras. Her voice was tight. "It's not even that late, Brooks. Someone could see us."
I studied her—shoulders stiff, eyes darting like every shadow was a threat.
"You can't care more about that than I do," I said, quiet but firm.
Her eyes snapped back to mine, and for a second I thought she'd argue. Instead, all I saw was that worried crease in her brow. It softened something in me I didn't expect.
"Hey," I murmured, tugging her closer, slipping an arm around her like I used to. "Relax. I know you see me as being reckless, but nothing's gonna happen. Not here."
She hesitated, then let herself sink into me, just for a moment. I kissed the top of her head, breathing her in.
"Let me know when you get home," I said against her hair, the words rougher than I meant them.
She pulled back slowly, eyes searching mine, then gave the smallest nod.
And that was it. She turned, walking off into the night. I stayed where I was, watching her go, until Monte cleared his throat from the car and the spell broke.
The penthouse lights were too bright when I walked in, sharp against the glass walls, the kind of brightness that made you feel exposed. I didn't bother dimming them. I dropped my coat over the back of the sofa and poured two fingers of scotch, still tasting her in the back of my throat.
Margot's voice came before I saw her. "You didn't answer any of my calls."
She was standing at the kitchen island, already dressed down in silk and bare feet like this was her place. I didn't answer right away. Just set the glass down, let the silence work.
"You can't just vanish, Brooks." Her voice was tight, brittle. "Do you have any idea how it looks?"
I set the scotch down, leaned against the island. "Like what it always looks like. Me doing what I want."