Page 66 of Bearly Out Loud

Not his. Not yet. Not until she chose it.

But close. God, close.

He sat. He held her hand. He stayed until she was deep enough in sleep that the grip loosened entirely, her fingers going soft and warm and trusting in his palm.

Then he pressed his mouth to her knuckles. One kiss. Barely there. A promise made to the back of her hand in a quiet room.

He set her hand gently on the quilt. Stood. The desk chair groaned its relief.

At the door, he looked back once. Nari Wixx. Asleep in her childhood bed, safe and furious and extraordinary and his choice. The woman who’d inventoried a crime scene before processing the violation. Who’d flirted in a hallway outside her ransacked home. Who’d saidI’m scaredand meantof you, of this, of how fast this is becoming the most important thing in my life.

He closed the door. Went downstairs. Found Akemi still awake in the kitchen, a cup of green tea between her hands.

“She’s asleep.”

Akemi nodded. Sipped her tea. Studied him the way Nari studied microphones—with precision and patience and the certain knowledge that the instrument would reveal itself in time.

“The security team will stay overnight?”

“As long as necessary.”

“You’ll come back tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

She set down her cup. “Bring breakfast. She won’t eat if someone doesn’t make her. And bring enough for James. He’s been awake since she called and he processes anger through carbohydrates.”

“I’ll bring enough for everyone.”

Akemi’s smile was small and knowing and warm. “Of course, you will.”

He left through the front door. The night was cold and the street was quiet and two sleuth operatives were positioned at discreet angles he approved of. He walked three blocks before hailing a cab.

His hand still carried her warmth. His throat still held the memory of her thumb against his pulse. He walked with that warmth in his chest—low, steady, finally settled—the quiet of a man who had spent the evening terrified and furious and was, finally, at rest.

THIRTY-FOUR

DOJIN

The parking structure smelled like exhaust, cold concrete, and the damp that crept into Manhattan buildings after dark. Level three. Her car was on level three because she parked in the same spot every day—northwest corner, near the stairwell, close to the exit. He’d memorized this in the first week. Hadn’t mentioned it. A man who memorized a woman’s parking spot and brought it up in conversation was either a boyfriend or a stalker, and they hadn’t defined which.

Nari walked beside him, bag on one shoulder, phone in her hand, scrolling through a text thread with Takumi at a speed that suggested either autocomplete or supernatural typing ability. She’d finished a late session—Yua’s climactic confrontation scene, three hours of emotional wreckage that had left Priya nodding in the control room and the sound engineer wiping his eyes—and she was still running hot from it. Her energy hadn’t cooled. It radiated off her like steam, and he tracked it with the attention of a compass needle seeking north.

He’d been walking her to her car every night since the break-in. Nine days. She tolerated it with a grace period that was narrowing daily.

“You know I have a security detail.” She didn’t look up from her phone. “Reo’s operatives. Very competent. Very armed. One of them has a scar that suggests he’s killed a man, which I find comforting in a way that probably says disturbing things about my current mental state.”

“The security detail covers your building and transit. Not the parking structure.”

“So you’re covering the parking structure.”

“I’m walking you to your car.”

“Every night. For over a week. Like a man with a chivalry complex and no hobbies.” She pocketed her phone and looked at him sideways. The fluorescent lights washed the color out of everything in the structure except her—her dark hair, her red lipstick, the warmth in her eyes when she teased him. “You have hobbies. You have beehives. Go tend your bees.”

“The bees are asleep. It’s eleven p.m.”

“You keep bee hours?”