“I’m happy,” she said.
“Uh-huh. So just to be clear, you’re one hundred percent happy to be marrying this Tom guy, whom you’ve known for all of three months?”
“Absolutely. Very happy.”
He studied her face for several seconds, then shrugged. “Then it’s like I said. I’m happy if you’re happy.”
That was mostly true.
“You don’t mean it.”
“Well, you’ll have to excuse me if the news of you marrying some tassel-shoed millionaire isn’t the impetus I need to turn into Mr. Smiley.”
“What is the impetus you’d need then?” Jill snapped back. “Because I’ve known you for years, and I’ve yet to see a damn thing that makes you feel anything other than irritable.”
Vincent took a sip of his beer, annoyed to realize that this was the second time in one evening that he’d felt an uncomfortable sting at her words. Vin had no illusions about the type of man that he was. He knew he was prickly and guarded and too intense.
But for some reason, he’d always thought that Jill saw past all that—beyond it. He’d always thought that Jill got him. Liked him for who he was.
But now—now he wasn’t so sure. Maybe she didn’t know him.
Because he sure as hell wasn’t sure that he knew her anymore.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked quietly.
“Like what?”
“With so much… dislike.”
“I’m not.”
Jill threw her hands up in frustration. “I’m so glad you asked me to drinks so that you could alternate between telling me how unhappy I am about my engagement and then not talking to me at all.”
“I’ve never been particularly talkative,” he said slowly. “Never seemed to bother you before.”
“Well, it bothers me now,” she said, mostly to herself.
They were saved from a full-blown argument by the arrival of their food, and before he realized what he was doing, Vin was cutting off part of his burger—not quite half, but at least a third—and was putting it on a side plate and sliding it across the table.
He watched her face, feeling almost shy… wondering if she would accept the shared burger for what it was. A peace offering.
And from the sunny smile she gave him, he warmed just a little. She understood.
But the warmth vanished as quickly as it arrived with her next words.
“You asked about a wedding date. We’re thinking June.”
June. That was in four months.
The fry and ketchup in his mouth suddenly didn’t taste as good.
“That’s fast,” he said eventually, because he had to say something. “You got a hankering to be a June bride or something?”
“Not really.” She fiddled with a burned corn chip on the edge of the nacho platter and didn’t look at him. “Tom thinks we should get married before we move.”
Vincent’s burger paused in midair, halfway to his face. He slowly put it back down again.
“Move?” His voice sounded rusty. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Move where?”
She was slow to meet his eyes. “Tom’s opening up a new property. It’ll take up all his time, and we want to spend our first months as newlyweds together, so—”
“Jill,” he interrupted. “Move. Where?”
She licked her lips. “Chicago. We’re moving to Chicago in the summer.”
It was the second time in twenty-four hours that Jill Henley had dropped a bomb on his head, but this time, his subconscious must have been prepared.
Because no sooner were the words out of her mouth, then Vincent knew.
Knew that there was no way he was letting Jill Henley walk away from him. Walk away from them, and what they had.
Whatever that was.
He only knew that the thought of her moving away…
… It felt like he couldn’t breathe.
CHAPTER NINE
Even before Vincent and Jill had become partners—before they’d even known of the other person’s existence—they’d both lived in Astoria, Queens.
Manhattan rent was outside of a comfortable cop’s salary (unless you were like Vin’s brothers and had a grandmother hooked up with rent control).
Brooklyn was slightly more affordable—or at least it had been, back when Jill was looking for her first New York apartment a few years ago—but then she’d toured the cozy one-bedroom in Astoria and she’d felt…
Home.
Sure, it was a longer-than-desirable commute into the city, and yeah, there was nothing trendy or particularly sexy about it. It wasn’t the New York City one saw on TVs or the movies, or even the gritty NYC one saw in the other types of movies.
Astoria was one of those New York neighborhoods that inspired loyalty in its residents for reasons they could never quite explain to nonresidents. You either lived there and got it… or you didn’t.
But Vincent? He got it.
Jill knew this because he, like her, had never voiced interest in moving anywhere else, even when their most recent raise might have allowed for it.
And living just a few minutes away from her partner had other perks, like easy carpooling.