Page 196 of The Sweetest Return

“No. I am irritated by how much I like this.”

His laugh followed me up the steps.

Once we were airborne, I opened my styling deck and Dre opened his laptop. The flight to New Jersey was short, and somewhere above Pennsylvania his hand found mine between the seats without either of us interrupting our work.

I looked down at our fingers.

Then at him.

He kept reading whatever was on his screen.

I smiled and went back to mine.

The plane was impressive.

His restraint was better.

In New York, I inspected the pear drops personally, checked the corrected clasp, signed the release, and watched security lock them beside the bracelet in the travel case.

On the ride back to Teterboro, Dre looked at me from across the back seat.

“You good at this.”

“I know.”

His smile came slowly. “That’s why I said it.”

I looked out the window before my face gave him too much satisfaction.

Hours later, Los Angeles appeared beneath us in scattered light.

By the time the car carried us toward Malibu, exhaustion had settled behind my eyes and the secured jewelry case rested near my feet. Dre leaned back beside me, looking calm despite having turned his own day into mine without complaint.

“You really didn’t have to come,” I said.

“I know.”

“I could've handled it.”

“I know that too.”

“Then why?”

He looked at me. “Because I wanted to.”

Simple.

Frustrating.

And enough.

The hotel appeared above the coast, low white walls and dark glass glowing against the night. Beyond it, the Pacific caught enough moonlight to remind me how far from Pittsburgh we had traveled in a single day.

Dre watched my face instead of the view.

“You did this on purpose.”

“Did what?”