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"She redirected it," Elle says quietly.

"She did. Smooth as hell, too. Started asking about me. My job. Said being a cop must be exhausting, trying to balance that with a personal life. She leaned in like she genuinely cared."

I exhale hard through my nose. "At the time, I didn’t think anything of it. I said my father used to be a cop, so it just made sense for me to follow that path. I kept trying to steer it back to you, but she was already locked in."

Elle shifts slightly beneath my hands, and I can feel the weight of what she’s processing.

"Then she says, ‘Following in your dad’s footsteps can only go so far. You must be carrying a lot.’ Like she was reading a script that made me feel seen. But really, she was just gathering intel."

"Did you fall for her that fast?"

"Not at first," I admit. "But she made it easy to feel like I could open up. She asked how I handled the pressure, how I managed relationships. It felt deeper than it was. Like therapy disguised as flirting."

Elle lets out a quiet breath, but doesn’t interrupt.

"Before I knew it, I was talking about how hard it was to find someone who could handle the job. She said someone like me deserved support, someone steady." I pause, pressing into another knot.

"She made me feel like she was that person."

"And you believed her," Elle says softly.

"I did." I nod. "She kissed me that night. Out of nowhere. I didn’t expect it, but I didn’t stop it either. She said, ‘I’ll see you soon, Cal,’ like it was inevitable. And after that, I found myself stopping by the group home more and more. Told myself it was just to check on you... but deep down, I think I knew it was also to see her."

Elle doesn't say anything, but the shift in her breathing tells me she's listening closely.

"I remember the night you supposedly ran away," I continue. "Meghan was a wreck. Crying. Said she'd filed a report. Told me she let her guard down because she wanted to believe in you. Said every time you promised to do better, she believed it, and now she felt like a fool."

"She lied to you," Elle says quietly.

"I know that now." I pause. "But that night... she came over, said she wanted to make a plan to find you. She cried on my shoulder, looked like she was blaming herself. And when she got up to leave, she stood at the door—eyes red, voice raw—and I wiped a tear off her cheek."

"And she stayed."

"Yeah. She stayed. And a year later, I married her."

***

The last time I spoke to Richard Brewer, I told him I wouldn’t be moving to Manhattan after all.

"That's too bad," he said. "I was looking forward to working with you face to face."

"I was too," I admitted. "But staying here won’t affect my deadlines."

"I have all the confidence in you," he replied. "What made you change your mind?"

"My life is here," I said, without elaborating.

"I understand. It would be a big adjustment. The option to relocate will always be open, especially when your business grows. It’ll make more sense to be here."

"Thank you," I said. "Maybe in a couple of years, when I’ve got my footing, I’ll reconsider."

"Well," Richard said, a new excitement in his voice, "there's a new high-rise being built in Indianapolis. We’ve just been commissioned to furnish it."

I could hear the enthusiasm in his tone. "It's a big job, executive suites, boardrooms, conference rooms. All of it.And after showing the client a few options, they liked your work."

I ran a hand through my hair, trying to absorb it all. Six custom pieces, and now a full-blown project? It's a massive job, one that could make a name for me in the high-end furniture world.

“How many pieces are we talking?” I asked.