“I tossed some clothes at her. Told her I was stepping out, I was never going to be interested in her, and she’d better be gone when I came back. I also mentioned that if it happened again, I’d go to HR.”
“You should've just taken it to HR,” Ziggy mumbled. “Imagine if a man did that to me.”
“Double standards. They aren’t fair, but they do exist,” Noah said. “And if it makes you feel any better, that was a few months ago. She barely even looks at me now.”
“No. It doesn’t.” Ziggy took another large gulp of her wine. Come tomorrow, it would be difficult for her to give any work to Claire, and that wouldn’t be right. It wasn’t her place to report Claire, it was Noah’s. And sadly, Claire did do good work.
“Claire’s ambitious,” he said without judgment, which was the most Noah way to say it. "She thinks sleeping with the right people is how you get somewhere. I feel sorry for her, and I hope it doesn’t come back to bite her in the ass.” He shook his head. "But as far as finding out about what we did, she wasn't at the station five years ago. There's no way she knows about the story."
Ziggy couldn’t argue that point, but anything was possible. She’d keep the thought in her rearview and figured Noah would, too.
The fire settled lower, and Ziggy watched it, thinking about everything that had happened since Thursday—only five days ago. That was a lot of craziness in a short period.
“Have you spoken to Boots?” she asked.
"Not a single courier has any record of the card sent to the station, which means no courier was used." He reached for his wine. "She got the lobby footage. Couldn’t tell if it was male or female. But it was a person in a baseball cap, wearing nondescript clothes. They dropped the package and left."
Ziggy pulled her jacket closer. “My dad told me that’s basically what the person who dropped off the puck looked like. And Jag mentioned the flowers were paid for in cash. The florist had a receipt, but no record of who’d bought it. They didn’t remember anything about the person, but the security footage shows someone dressed similarly to the others.”
"Not much to go on—except it looks like it’s possible that the same person delivered everything.”
“I’m guessing Jag said that was good because it keeps the suspect pool low. If he can find a suspect, that is.”
“I have faith in your brother. He’s a good cop.”
“He is.”
Silence settled between them. It wasn’t the kind of quiet she could find on the island. This one had a heaviness, as if it were weighed down by things still unsaid.
The fire popped. A few floors below, someone's music floated faintly through an open window. The stars were still there, which, in Seattle, always felt worth noticing, even when everything else was a mess.
“I need to discuss something,” she said. “About Sunday. After everyone left."
"Cormac didn't leave," Noah said. "He was outside. He’s somewhere watching right now.”
"Stop deflecting."
He inhaled sharply and pushed it out through his nose before tilting his head in her direction. “What is it that you want to say?”
"I won’t be shoved to the sidelines because things get tough.” She kept her voice even, which took effort. "I understand what's at stake. I understand what your father is capable of, and I understand that when any of this gets too close, your instinct is to put distance between yourself and the people you care about." She held his gaze. "I don’t think it’s too much to ask you not to run away. Or to hide what you're feeling, even if you think you’re doing it for some noble reason. We both know I don’t need you to protect me from this.”
He picked up his chair and shifted it so they faced each other. "I'm sorry,” he said softly. “I don’t mean to do that. I love you. I just—I'm still figuring out what it looks like to let someone in while all of this is happening at the same time."
"You don't have to figure it out alone."
"I know that."
"Do you?"
“I know it up here.” He tapped his temple. “I struggle to realize it here.” He took her hand and pressed it against his heart. “I’ll work on it.” He kissed her—slow and deliberate and warm. It was the kind of kiss that told her he was completely present with her while the fire snapped at the sky, and the city moved forty floors below. This kiss was the foundation of love. The basis for everything she’d waited five long years for, and there was no way she was ever letting go.
"Isn't this cozy," her mother said in her soft, sweet voice. But it also had that ring to it that told Ziggy the next half hour would be a discussion about her and Noah.
Ziggy pulled back, and Noah wiped her lower lip with his thumb. He gave her a gentle smile refusing to tear his gaze from hers. He could be so damn charming when he wanted.
But it was time to face her parents.
They stood at the rooftop door—her father holding a box of what looked like chocolate treats from Crystal Morning’s bakery. Her mother wore an off-white blouse with dark slacks and the widest grin. She’d always had a soft spot for Noah. Everyone in her family did, and they all believed she and Noah belonged together.