Page 53 of Dissonance

“When I’ll be back for you.”

“What if I’m busy?”

“Are you?”

I open my mouth, snapping it shut when the corner of his lifts. “I’ll see you tonight.”

He steps back, hands returning to his pockets, and disappears into the lunchtime crowd, leaving me standing outside my office like a fool, every coherent thought now gone.

When I step out of the building at seven, he’s already there, propped against a sleek black SUV, arms crossed loosely over his chest. He’s swapped the t-shirt for a button-down, sleeves rolled to his forearms, still in the same dark jeans, trying to look casual.

Nothing Lockie does is casual.

“Ready?”

“Depends,” I say, stopping in front of him. “Where are you taking me?”

“It’s a surprise.”

He opens the passenger door before I can reach the handle, taking my briefcase without asking and tossing it into the back. I slide in, fastening my seatbelt, feeling his eyes on me.

“You’re not wearing your glasses.”

My hand goes to my face. “Contacts.”

“You look good without them.” Then, after the smallest pause, “But you look good with them too.”

The flutter in my stomach returns, and he shuts the door, rounding the car to the driver’s side. We pull into traffic, the city sliding past in the fading evening light.

“I thought you’d be in Taunton Falls longer,” I say eventually, risking a glance his way.

“Changed my mind.”

“Why?”

His gaze moves to me briefly. “Because you’re here.”

A quick, bright warmth moves through me, and I shift in my seat, my hand drifting to my stomach before I catch myself, and I put it back in my lap.

Lockie has always existed at the edges of my life. The occasional run-in at an event, moments that burned hot and then disappeared because I never let them be anything else. Twelve years of keeping him at arm’s length, where he was safe to want without having to admit I actually wanted him.

But this is new territory. And I have no idea how to navigate it.

We pull into a parking lot, and he’s out of the car before I’ve unbuckled, opening my door as I reach for the handle. His hand settles lightly against the small of my back, guiding me around the building, and it feels strangely…easy, like it’s always been this way.

Is this a…date? It feels like one—him, his shirt, the hand at my back—only that’s not what he said. He said, “I’ll see you tonight” like it was a foregone conclusion, which either means this is a date or I’m catastrophically overthinking the act of sitting across from him for two hours, not knowing if it is or—

“After you,” he says, holding the restaurant doors open. Inside, soft music drifts from the speakers, the smell of garlic and herbs making my mouth water.

“Good evening, Mr. James, right this way,” the hostess says, menus tucked under her arm.

We follow, Lockie’s hand never leaving my back. He pulls out my chair when we reach the table, waiting until I’m seated before taking the one opposite.

“They’ve got a chicken soup that’s supposed to be incredible,” he says, his menu already closed in front of him. “There’s also grilled chicken, and a couple of pasta dishes if you feel like something different.”

I lower mine slowly. “You’ve already read it?”

“Aye. Figured you might want options.”