Page 197 of Top Shelf

Another inch.

“No, too high. Back down a bit.”

Rhys lowers it, and cuts a glance at her. “Are we hanging a photograph or trying to land a plane?”

“I have a vision.”

“Right. Does the vision come with measurements, or are we relying entirely on vibes?”

“Would you like me to get someone taller for this task?”

He laughs. “Stop being mean to me, Kovacs. You know I love it.”

“Fine. Two inches to the left. Do you know what two inches is, Rhys?”

The corner of his mouth pulls. “You’re very bossy for someone not currently holding anything.”

“I’m directing.”

Rhys shifts the frame, and Mila reaches up to adjust the corner herself, stepping in close enough that her shoulder brushes his chest. His gaze drops to her face.

“There,” she says, studying the positioning. “Perfect.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs in agreement, but he isn’t looking at the positioning at all.

I catch Zoe’s eye across the room and she catches mine back, but neither of us say anything. The message we send each other through sheer willpower, eye contact, and never minding a damn bit of our own business a day in our lives, is clear—there’s definitely something fucking happening between those two.

Three hours later, everyone finally leaves. Carina and Reid are first to go, then Zoe physically drags Chase away after he discovers the previous owners left a basketball hoop over the garage and decides moving day should become a tournament. Rhys offers to help Viktor shift one last cabinet before Mila tells him he’s limping and should stop pretending he isn’t.

“I’m fine,” he tells her.

“You’re favoring your left side again.”

“Aw, watching my ass were ya?”

She scoffs. “I was watching your gait.”

“Shame. I have excellent glutes.”

She gives him a look and walks out, and all Rhys does is grin like an idiot before following her. Nia is the last to go, mostly because she isn’t actually here and has therefore contributed nothing except commentary.

“Congratulations on the house,” she says through my phone. “Try not to destroy it before I visit.”

“No promises.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too.”

The screen goes dark, and I hear the front door close as Viktor comes back in from closing our driveway gate. Silence settles over the house, and I stand in the living room surrounded by boxes, empty glasses, scrunched up paper and the remains of an unpacking system I have withheld murdering.

The photograph hangs on the wall, and I feel the brush of Viktor’s arm as he comes to stand beside me, staring at it.

I nudge his arm. “You just gonna stare at it all night?”

“Maybe.”

“You know the people in the photograph are available in three-dimensional form.”