“You've been in my house.”
“Sophie trusts you.”
“I told you about Lauren.”
“I told you things I haven't told anybody in years.”
“And you knew I didn't understand who I was talking to.”
Riley’s eyes filled with hurt.
“You understood me better than most people do.”
Daniel looked away.
She continued.
“You know how I take coffee.”
“You know I hate card games when I lose.”
“You know I can't braid Sophie's hair even though she's taught me four times.”
“You know I build snow forts too high.”
“You know I panic when my phone rings after ten.”
“You know me.”
Daniel turned.
“I know the version you decided I was allowed to know.”
That hurt.
He saw.
Still said it.
Riley swallowed.
“Maybe.”
Daniel hated how quickly her face became composed again.
Corporate armor.
He had never seen it directed at him.
She took her jacket.
“I have to go to Chicago.”
He nodded.
“I need to think.”
Another hit.
Riley put on jacket.
“Okay.”
She walked toward motorcycle.
Daniel wanted to stop her.
He didn’t.
She started engine.
Left.
He watched through window until she disappeared.
Then Sophie reentered.
“Did Riley leave?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Work.”
Sophie studied his face.
“Did you make her sad?”
Daniel closed his eyes.
Children were merciless.
“I don't know.”
Sophie hugged Gerald.
“She makes you less grumpy.”
“Inside.”
“You are grumpy.”
“Sophie.”
She went.
Daniel stared at empty road.
For first time since Lauren died, he felt unmistakably afraid of losing someone who was not already gone.
That frightened him more than Riley’s money ever could.
Chicago loved Riley because Chicago required nothing emotionally.
Glass towers.
Airport cars.
Mahogany conference room.
Numbers.
Her territory.
She sat opposite Caldwell Group representatives and defended Hargrove Analytics’ Series D valuation for three hours.
Noah Brenner, her CFO, watched her dismantle every objection.
Customer retention.
Growth projections.
Margin risk.
Regulatory exposure.
She was brilliant.
He told her so afterward.
Riley stood beside elevator.
“Great.”
Noah looked at her.
“You okay?”
“Fine.”
“You flew from Aspen at four this morning.”
“Yes.”
“You've been gone three weeks.”
“I know.”
“Your assistant says you've been living in a hotel and spending time at motorcycle garage.”
Riley turned slowly.
“Marcus talks too much.”
“He's worried.”
“Noah.”
“I’m not asking professionally.”
That was unusual.
Riley looked at him.
He continued.
“You look different.”
“How?”
“Like you care about something you can’t control.”
She almost laughed.
“Terrible diagnosis.”
“Accurate?”
Unfortunately.
She returned to Denver that night.
The apartment felt wrong.
Too quiet.
Not like Daniel’s quiet.
His quiet contained another room.
A child sleeping.
Wood settling in stove.
Tools left by door.