And he’s been outside her apartment for a few minutes now, not going up the stairs and just staring up at the window that looks over the street. The light is still on.
C’mon, Byrne, suck it up and just do it.
Once he gets his feet moving, he takes the steps two at a time. The door is still unlocked, which has him clicking his teeth in disapproval of himself for not locking it on his way out and her for not locking it behind him.
“What were the odds that someone was just going to randomly try the door in the twenty minutes you were gone,” she says, not on the couch where he left her, but in the little corner of the room that passes for a kitchen, pouring out clear liquid into two red solo cups.
“What’s this for?”
“So we can drink to our fengagement?”
“Fengagement? Fake engagement?”
“He’s smart.”
“He does okay.”
“More than okay,” she insists and hands him a cup and lifts hers. “To . . . us, I guess?”
Lifting his in return, he shakes his head ruefully. “To us.” He drinks it, letting it settle on his tongue gently before swallowing it down. “That’s good. Ouzo?”
“You’ve had it?”
“On occasion.”
“I bought this bottle in Greece when we were there for my sister’s wedding. She said we’d drink it to celebrate, but I think we should drink it tonight instead.”
“Sounds good to me, boss.”
Holding out his cup, she smiles wide and bright as she pours them both another.
“Okay, down to business,” he says, rubbing his hands together and then pulling out the box from his pocket. “Your fengagement ring.”
But then he hesitates. He’s not sure of the protocol here. Should he get down on a knee? No, that’d be stupid. They’re not actually getting engaged. Instead, he just holds it out to her to take.
Which she does and then stops. “Can I?”
“Obviously, that’s the point, right?”
“Right,” she agrees and then opens the box. “Oh, it’s beautiful.” Then her brow furrows. “I thought you said it was your mother’s. Rose gold was a thing in the nineties?”
“Rose gold’s been a thing since the nineteenth century.”
“You know a lot about jewelry?”
“I know a lot about antiquities.”
“You get that from your mom? So that’s why archaeology and repatriation and . . .” She trails off.
“She’s smart.”
“She does okay.”
“Way more than okay.”
And that makes her smile come back, and shit, if that isn’t addictive as hell, having her look at him like that. He can imagine that maybe that’s the face she’d make after a few hours in his bed.
Better not imagine that too much, actually.
