“No, I just—” She reached up and tightened her ponytail the way she did when she was stressed. “Come on, Vin. You knew things were going to change when one of us met someone. We can’t just keep doing this forever, being each other’s everything.”
He knew she didn’t mean her words to hurt, but they cut like a knife all the same. “I’m not asking you to be my everything,” he said quietly. “I just hate that this guy swoops into your life for all of a couple months, and you’re ready to throw it all away.”
Vin didn’t look at her as he said it. It was the closest he’d come to admitting… something, and he couldn’t bear to see what might be laughter on her face.
He heard the sound of her chair scooting backward before she moved closer, dropping into the chair right next to his.
Her hand found his knee. “Is that what you think? That I’m throwing you away?”
He said nothing.
Her fingers squeezed and she leaned down, trying to catch his eye. “I’m always here for you. Even if I’m in a different time zone, you can call me anytime and I’ll come running. You know that.”
He swallowed. He did know that. Knew that he’d do the same for her.
He also knew that if he kept on with this push-pull thing, he’d risk losing her. He’d put a rift between them that couldn’t be fixed with a doughnut.
Vin forced himself to meet her eyes. “I’m sorry about the kiss.”
Her head snapped back a little. “Oh. Don’t apologize. It was… nothing.”
Burn. “Right. I know. But I was out of line. I mean, if Tom found out.”
She gave a small smile. “Relax. It’s not like you slipped me tongue and copped a feel.”
Good God. Even her joking, off-the-cuff comment made him horny.
“Yeah, right,” he said, forcing a smile.
There was a moment of silence before she gave his leg a little squeeze. “We’re okay, right?”
“Sure.”
She pulled back, looking frustrated. “Would you talk to me? Please. I feel like there’s so much going on inside your head, but the second we get anywhere, you pull back. It’s almost like—”
“Almost like what?”
Their eyes clashed for several long tense moments, until she finally shook her head. “Nothing. Almost like nothing.”
Vincent felt a brief stab of disappointment until he reminded himself that it was for the best. That this was a conversation they could never have.
He pushed back from the table, grabbing at their empty plates so he had an excuse to walk away.
Vin heard her sigh of frustration and ignored it. He didn’t know what the hell she wanted from him. Sure, she thought she wanted honesty. She thought she wanted him to spill his guts.
But if she had a clue—even the tiniest clue—as to what had been going through his head for the past few weeks, she’d probably find a way to escape to Chicago early.
He dropped the plates noisily into the sink to be dealt with later and then braced his hands on the counter, letting his chin drop, just for a second, willing himself to get it together.
Vin was so lost in his dark thoughts that he didn’t realize Jill had approached until her arms wrapped around him from behind.
She squeezed his waist hard, and he felt her cheek nuzzle against the center of his back. Vin wasn’t particularly tall, but Jill was downright short. Perfect.
She’d always been perfect.
“We’re gonna be okay, right?” she asked, her voice muffled against his shirt.
Vin closed his eyes as his hand closed over clasped arms, his head tilting back so that the back of his head rested lightly on the top of hers.
And because he cared about her—cared about her so damn much—he did the only thing that he could.
He lied. “Yeah. Yeah, we’re gonna be all right.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Two weeks after her and Vincent’s awkward non-kiss and the even more awkward conversation that had followed, Jill was feeling the best she had in months.
She and Vincent were back. Really, truly, dynamic-duo kind of back.
And if maybe some distant part of her brain was buzzing with warning that they were merely in the calm before the storm, she ignored it.
She’d given him an opening. Given him a chance to say something… and he hadn’t.
Which was fine. Great. Maybe all his bad moods lately really were just what they seemed: typical Moretti Moods.
She had bigger things to worry about.
Like the fact that she had a wedding to plan.
Like the fact that they still hadn’t caught Lenora Birch’s killer, and it was getting, well, embarrassing.
But neither had the other homicide investigators assigned to the case, which lessened the embarrassment. Slightly.
Everyone had a theory. But nobody had even a lick of proof.
The only good news about the whole thing was that the media had backed off. After nearly constant Who Killed Lenora Birch coverage, everyone had tired of the lack of updates.
Nobody more so than Vin and Jill.
They were, however, getting closer. She could feel it down to the tip of her ponytail, and Vincent had been increasingly doing that edgy, snippy thing that meant his brain was working in overdrive.