Dinner wasat a small Italian place in her neighborhood that she’d ordered from a hundred times. The owner recognized her when they came in and seemed mildly surprised when she asked for a table for two.
Patrick studied the menu and chatted amiably with the server, who seemed to enjoy it. Patrick Callaghan was the kind of man who made people feel seen and appreciated, she realized.
They talked for two hours about nothing and everything, including a lighthearted, getting to know each other version of ‘never have I ever.’ She couldn’t remember a time when she’d smiled so much or laughed so often, but something told her that if she listened to her instincts, it wouldn’t be the last.
They spent the night at her place, the two of them pressed close together on her tiny twin mattress. It wasn’t so bad for one night—especially since she spent most of the time sprawled over his much bigger body—but it wasn’t ideal.
In the morning, she walked out and got fresh bagels while Patrick was showering, which he wasn’t happy about. He didn’t like the thought of her walking around the city by herself, even though she told him she’d been doing it for years without issue. Once, she might have found his concern irritating, but now, knowing Patrick like she did, she realized it was a chivalrous streak that had been instilled in him since birth.
“What are we doing today?” he asked, ready and willing to do whatever she wanted.
“I need to stop by the ME’s office and hand in my resignation,” she answered, tossing him packets of cream cheese.
“Are you sure that’s what you want?” Patrick asked.
She was sure. She had no desire to continue with a department that hadn’t had her back when she needed them. That, more than anything else, had made the decision easy.
And no, she didn’t know what she was going to do next, but she had time to figure it out. She had enough in her savings to tide her over for a while, and living at Frank’s was going to be a hell of a lot cheaper than living in Fairmount while she did.
Plus, there were perks to staying in Pine Ridge. The biggest one was sitting beside her with a dab of cream cheese on his nose.
“I’m sure.”
The ME’soffice was quieter than she’d expected.
Her supervisor wasn’t there—leave of absence, the administrator said, with the careful neutrality of someone who knew more than they were saying. The federal inquiry had apparently moved faster than either of them had anticipated. She filed herresignation with HR and walked out through the lobby with a sense of freedom she’d never felt before.
Patrick was waiting outside on the steps. He’d offered to come in. She’d said no, and he’d accepted that without argument, which was one of the things she’d come to appreciate about him. He understood the difference between support and intrusion, and he had a good sense for which one was needed at any given time.
“Okay?” he asked.
“Yes.” She was, possibly for the first time in her life, entirely okay. “Let’s go pack.”
It didn’t take long.Morgan had never been one to accumulate things.
Books. Files. Her limited wardrobe, most of which she’d probably end up donating.
She stood in the middle of the living room with a half-full box and looked around with a sense of finality. Took in the flat builder’s white walls, the vinyl flooring, the window with its view of the building opposite and realized she wasn’t going to miss this place at all.
“Is that everything?” Patrick asked from the doorway.
“I think so.”
Morgan checked her phone one last time. Once she’d made up her mind, she’d texted her mother to tell her that she’d decided not to return to her job and would be moving out of her apartment. The message had been read, but there had been noreply. She was debating whether to drop by her mother’s house to say goodbye or just leave when there was a knock at the door.
At just over fifty, Rosalina DeStefano was still a beautiful woman. She looked, as always, impeccable. Dark hair with a touch of silver at the temples gave her a regal air, as did her skillfully applied makeup and designer clothes chosen with care. Presentation and appearance were everything in her world.
She looked at Patrick first, her eyes moving over him with rapid, thorough assessment, then looked to Morgan, the question apparent.
“Mom,” Morgan said. “This is Patrick Callaghan. Patrick, my mother, Rosalina DeStefano.”
Patrick extended his hand. “Mrs. DeStefano.”
After a brief hesitation, her mother accepted his hand. “Patrick.”
An awkward silence ensued.
“I’ll finish loading,” Patrick said, with the ease of a man who understood exactly when to absent himself. He picked up the last box from the hallway, letting the door close behind him.