He considered. “Effective delegation?”
I laughed, loud and not for his benefit. “You’re incorrigible.”
“I prefer relentless.” He folded the paper and leaned in until our noses almost touched. “Speaking of, will you be my date to the wedding, or should I ask your mother?”
“I’ll need an itemized list of ex-girlfriends attending first,” I said. “And your mother would expect you to marry her off to the highest bidder.”
He didn’t smile, but his eyes did that thing where they got all sly and private. I wanted to bite him. So I did, a little, just enough to leave a mark, on his jaw.
He grinned, which on Gabriel was like an eclipse: rare, blinding, and slightly apocalyptic.
We fell into the kind of silence that only people with nothing left to prove could manage. I ate my half of the croissant and watched the city unfold beyond our window. The air hummed with the possibility of screw-ups, but none of them felt personal anymore.
He refilled my cup. “You’re thinking again.”
I shrugged. “You make it easy.”
His hand rested on my hip like it belonged there, which, apparently, it did. “You worried about today’s vote?”
“Nope.” I watched his face for any twitch, any tell. “Are you?”
“Not unless you’re planning a coup.”
“Too much paperwork.” I smiled at the memory of our first real argument, how I’d threatened to walk if he tried to run my division like one of his start-ups, how he’d spent an entire night writing a restructuring plan just to see if I’d notice. I’d noticed. I’d also set his proposal on fire, which, in retrospect, was overkill. But it felt good.
He laced our fingers together on the counter. “We could take a break after this. Travel.”
I arched a brow. “You? Vacation?”
“I have a list,” he admitted. “Places I haven’t been. With you.”
A weird, unfamiliar heat settled behind my sternum. “Is this where you propose? Because I’ll need to pencil it in.”
“No. This is where I remind you that life isn’t just quarterly targets.” His thumb traced the inside of my wrist. “We’re allowed to want things.”
I set my cup down, the click louder than necessary. “I want a raise.”
He actually laughed this time. “Done.”
“And a puppy. Preferably one that hates you.”
“Impossible. All animals love me.”
“True.” I poked him in the chest. “You’re basically a human treat dispenser.”
He caught my hand and pressed it flat, just over his heart. “Anything else?”
A million things. All at once. But I kept it simple. “Just keep making coffee.”
He looked at me like I was the only person that existed in his world. “Always.”
The office was quieter now, after months of chaos. People made eye contact. They smiled. Nobody was waiting for a shoe to drop, least of all me.
I walked the floor, heels biting into the day’s momentum, and scanned for weaknesses; old habit. The morning meeting was already in session, my team arrayed around the conference table like a jury at my own trial. Only now, I was the judge and the defendant, which meant I got to pick the snacks.
“Nice of you to join us, Reeves,” said the head of compliance, mock-serious.
“Try to contain your excitement,” I said. “It’s contagious.”