She Had Never Called Declan Callahan Until a Stranger Outside Her Window Used His Name
The officer looked between Paige and Declan.
“How well do you two know each other?”
Paige opened her mouth.
Then stopped.
How did someone explain six months of conversations that almost became something?
Coffee remembered without asking.
Eleven-minute conversations stretched to twenty.
A man who always arrived with his aunt and somehow stayed after she left.
Then suddenly nothing.
Declan answered first.
“Not well enough for this.”
Paige turned toward him.
Something in his voice bothered her.
Not because the answer was false.
Because it sounded painful.
The officer apparently heard it too.
“Someone seems to disagree.”
Declan’s jaw tightened.
And Paige finally understood.
Whoever had sent those men didn’t simply know Declan Callahan.
They knew Paige knew him.
More importantly, they believed she trusted him.
She looked directly at Declan.
“What did they see?”
For the first time since arriving, Declan had no immediate answer.
Paige folded her arms.
“That wasn’t rhetorical.”
“There is someone who might have reason to use my name.”
“Who?”
“Warren Pike.”
“Should that mean something to me?”
“No. I wanted to keep it that way.”
“Apparently you failed.”
Declan accepted the hit without reacting.
“Pike has been trying to take control of several redevelopment contracts on the West Side. Warehousing. Construction. Property management.”
“Legal businesses?”
“Some.”
“And the others?”
He met her eyes.
“Not.”
Paige’s stomach tightened.
She knew what Declan was.
Or rather, she knew what Chicago whispered he was.
He owned legitimate logistics companies, restaurants, commercial properties and construction firms.
He also commanded the kind of loyalty that didn’t come from employee benefits.
People called him many things.
Businessman.
Fixer.
Mafia boss.
Declan never confirmed any of them.
Paige had never asked.
Until tonight, it hadn’t been her world.
“What does Pike want from you?”
“Cooperation.”
“And you’re saying no.”
“Repeatedly.”
“So someone decided to use me to change your answer.”
Declan’s face hardened.
“If that’s what happened, they made a serious mistake.”
“Did they?”
His eyes moved to her.
Paige pointed toward the windows.
“You got here in what, fifteen minutes?”
“Seventeen.”
“Of course you know.”
“Paige—”
“I used a number you’ve given me exactly once and never called. Someone says your name outside my window and suddenly you have three vehicles on my street before police finish checking the cameras.”
She took a step closer.
“What exactly are we pretending isn’t obvious?”
Declan lowered his voice.
“You’re not part of my life.”
The words landed harder than they should have.
Paige looked away.
“Right.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“It sounded remarkably complete.”
“You’re not involved in my business. You aren’t responsible for my choices. You’re not someone they have the right to use against me.”
She looked back at him.
“That’s a very different sentence.”
“It’s the sentence I meant.”
“Then why me?”
Declan said nothing.
Paige stared at him.
“You have employees. Partners. Family. Properties. People you’ve known twenty years. Why would someone trying to hurt you choose a woman who frames paintings for a living?”
Still nothing.
Her pulse slowed.
And suddenly the silence itself became an answer.
“Me?”
His expression didn’t change.
But she knew.
“That’s ridiculous. We’re not even together.”
“I know.”
“You haven’t been inside this shop in months.”
“I know.”
“Then how could anyone look at me and decide I matter to Declan Callahan?”
Something moved behind his eyes.
Before he could answer, the officer returned.
“We found something else.”
He turned the tablet.
Security footage from three nights earlier showed Paige locking the front door.
Across the intersection, a dark sedan waited.
The officer zoomed in.
Someone in the driver’s seat was holding a phone toward her.
“That vehicle passed your block four times this week.”
Paige stopped breathing.
“This didn’t start tonight.”
“No.”
Someone had been studying her.
Recording her routine.
Waiting.
Paige slowly turned toward Declan.
Rage lived beneath his calm now.
But there was something else.
Fear.
Not fear for himself.
For her.
“You stopped coming here months ago,” she said quietly.
Declan looked at the image.
“Yes.”
“Because you lost interest?”
“No.”
“Because you thought being seen with me could become dangerous.”
His eyes rose.
“I thought making you part of my routine could become dangerous.”
“So you removed yourself from mine.”
“I tried.”
The honesty hurt more than an excuse would have.
Paige took another step toward him.
“You decided that alone.”
“There wasn’t anything to decide. We weren’t together.”
“No. You disappeared before we could find out whether we might be.”
That silenced him.
Paige glanced toward the scratched lock.
“Did staying away protect me?”
“I thought it would.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Declan followed her gaze.
“No.”
Paige nodded.
“Then don’t make another decision for me because you’re scared.”
His eyes snapped back to hers.
“Somebody watched your shop for days.”
“Exactly. So whatever happens next, I get a voice.”
He studied her for several long seconds.
Then nodded once.
“All right.”
It wasn’t romantic.
It wasn’t a declaration.
It was better.
It was the first promise between them that required something from both of them.
• • •
By midnight, Mercer Frames no longer felt like Paige’s shop.
Police filled the front room.
Photographs covered her restoration table.
Detectives moved between security footage and phone records while Declan stood near the back wall saying almost nothing.
Then one detective placed several printed images on the table.
“These were recovered from a phone during an unrelated stop tonight. The man carrying them has connections to the subcontractor leasing the sedan.”
Paige looked down.
The first image had been taken nearly five months earlier.
She was standing beside Declan’s aunt, Maeve Callahan, holding the restored family portrait that had originally brought Declan into her life.
Paige remembered that afternoon.
Maeve had dropped her keys.
The framed portrait had slipped.
Three of Declan’s men moved simultaneously to help.
Declan stopped them with one gesture, crossed the sidewalk himself and caught the frame.
The next photograph showed Paige and Declan talking beneath the shop awning after Maeve had driven away.
Another showed Declan walking back into the shop alone.
“What was that?” Paige asked.
Declan looked at the picture.
“Your gloves.”
“My what?”
“You left them in Maeve’s car.”
Paige remembered.
“You drove back yourself?”
“I was already in the car.”
“You have people who return forgotten gloves.”
“Apparently I needed exercise.”
Under any other circumstances, she might have laughed.
The detective placed down another photograph.
Paige stood behind the shop counter gesturing animatedly.
Declan was opposite her.
His phone screen glowed with an incoming call.
The next photograph had been taken four minutes later.
Same conversation.
Same phone still unanswered.
The detective tapped the images.
“They weren’t studying Ms. Mercer first.”
Declan looked at him.
“They were studying me.”
The detective nodded.
Paige looked again.
None of the photographs showed anything dramatic.
No kiss.
No secret embrace.
No hand resting possessively at her waist.
Just tiny changes.
Declan returning her gloves himself.
Declan ignoring calls.
Declan sending his men back while he remained.
Declan smiling when he thought no one important was looking.
They had not needed proof that Paige was his lover.
They only needed proof that he behaved differently around her.
Paige slowly lifted her gaze.
“They knew.”
Declan said nothing.
“They knew before we did.”
His expression tightened.
“Before you did.”
Everything inside Paige went still.
“What does that mean?”
Declan could have avoided the question.
For six months, avoiding things had apparently been one of his specialties.
This time he didn’t.
“It means I knew why I stopped coming.”
“Because you thought I could become leverage.”
“Because I already cared enough that you could.”
No charm.
No romantic speech.
No attempt to soften it.
That was Declan.
He confessed emotion like a man admitting to structural damage.
Paige looked down at the photographs.
“And disappearing fixed that?”
“No.”
“It just left me confused.”
“Yes.”
“You really are terrible at this.”
“I’ve been told.”
“By Maeve?”
“Repeatedly.”
Paige almost smiled.
Then another detective entered.
His expression erased the moment.
“We found a note on one of the phones.”
He placed a printed call log on the table.
Beside Paige’s shop address were four words.
HOLD UNTIL SIGNATURES CLEAR.
“What signatures?” Paige asked.
Declan already knew.
“The redevelopment meeting.”
“When?”
“Thursday.”
Forty-eight hours away.
The detective nodded.
“Our working theory is that whoever approached Ms. Mercer planned to get her downstairs voluntarily, move her somewhere and use her to pressure Mr. Callahan until the contracts were finalized.”
Paige stared at the paper.
“Kidnap me for two days.”
“Potentially.”
Declan’s face became unreadable.
“If I withdrew my objections,” he said, “Pike would have enough support to secure those contracts for ninety days.”
“And after ninety days?”
“Removing him becomes much harder.”
Paige looked from the detective to Declan.
“So they didn’t want money.”
“No.”
“They wanted your surrender.”
Declan reached for his phone.
“I’ll have somewhere prepared outside Chicago before sunrise.”
Paige stared at him.
“For whom?”
“You.”
“No.”
His thumb stopped.
“Paige.”
“You promised me a voice.”
“You have one.”
“Mine says no.”
“Someone tried to take you tonight.”
“Which is why I’m accepting police protection. I’m changing my routine. I’m not reopening tomorrow. I am not getting into a car and disappearing because you ordered it.”
Declan’s jaw flexed.
“You’re not staying above this shop.”
“Are you asking?”
Silence.
The detective pretended very hard not to be listening.
Declan lowered the phone.
“Will you stay somewhere secure until Thursday?”
“In Chicago?”
“Yes.”
“Somewhere reasonable?”
“Maeve has a lakefront condo with controlled entry and private elevators.”
“Fine.”
“Two men downstairs.”
“One.”
“Two.”
“One, and police know exactly who he is.”
Declan stared at her.
“You negotiate while standing in a crime scene.”
“You started negotiating.”
“One.”
“Good.”
Declan made the arrangement.
Paige thought the argument was over.
Then she heard him say into another call, “Cancel Thursday. Tell the owners I’m withdrawing.”
She crossed the room and took the phone straight out of his hand.
Declan stared at her.
Paige ended the call.
“No.”
“Give me the phone.”
“In a minute.”
“Paige.”
“They stood outside my window because they believed frightening me would change what you did.”
“It did.”
“Then they won.”
“This is not a game.”
“I know. I was the woman behind the glass.”
That stopped him.
Paige put the phone on the table.
“If you give Pike exactly what he wanted, every person watching learns the same lesson.”
Declan’s eyes narrowed.
“They don’t have to beat Declan Callahan. They don’t have to threaten you. They just have to scare somebody you care about.”
“I can lose a contract.”
“Can you afford what happens after Pike gets it?”
Silence.
“You told me he pressures property owners. You told me these contracts make him harder to remove. If you surrender because of me, I don’t become safer. I become the reason the next threat works too.”
Declan stepped closer.
“I do not care about those contracts more than I care about you.”
Her breath caught.
For months, she had wanted some version of that sentence.
She hated receiving it here.
“Then care about me enough not to turn me into your weakness.”
The room seemed to become smaller.
Declan looked toward the damaged entrance.
The surveillance photographs.
Then back at Paige.
“If I attend that meeting,” he said quietly, “I can’t pretend you don’t matter anymore.”
Paige held his eyes.
“I think tonight made pretending ridiculous.”
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he picked up his phone.
“Don’t cancel Thursday.”
A pause.
“And make sure every property owner is there.”
When he ended the call, Paige understood something important.
Declan had spent half a year trying to protect her by removing himself from her choices.
Tonight, protection had become something different.
It meant standing beside her while she made them.
Thursday afternoon arrived under a gray Chicago sky.
Twenty-three minutes before Declan’s meeting, Paige’s phone vibrated on the kitchen counter of Maeve’s condo.
Unknown number.
Paige opened the message.
A photograph appeared.
Her stomach turned.
It showed her inside Mercer Frames the previous night.
Standing near the restoration table.
Taken through the same window where the stranger had appeared.
Beneath it were five words.
Tell Callahan to change course.
Paige did not answer.
She forwarded everything to the detective.
Then she sent the photograph to Declan.
Her phone rang seven seconds later.
“You’re leaving Chicago.”
“No.”
“This isn’t a discussion.”
“Then you’ve called the wrong woman.”
“Paige, somebody was still watching the building after police arrived.”
“And I’m currently twenty floors above a controlled lobby with an officer downstairs and your security guy drinking terrible coffee by the elevators.”
“I’m coming back.”
“You’re already near the meeting.”
Silence.
She was right.
“Declan, if you turn around, the message worked.”
“I don’t care.”
“I do.”
Paige enlarged the photograph.
Her shop filled the screen.
The restoration lamp.
The window.
Her own silhouette.
Then something strange caught her attention.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“In the glass.”
Paige pinched the image larger.
Near the upper corner was a faint reversed line of red lettering.
She knew that sign.
She had looked at it nearly every weekday for eleven years.
“The building across from my shop.”
“What about it?”
“There’s an old appliance showroom on the second floor. Vacant for months. Red sign.”
She enlarged the reflection.
“I think whoever took this was inside that building.”
“Send it to police.”
“Already am.”
Within minutes officers entered the vacant showroom.
Paige paced around Maeve’s immaculate kitchen while Declan remained on the call from his car.
Seven minutes later, the detective called.
“We found someone.”
Paige stopped.
“Alive?”
“Alive. In custody. Camera equipment, photographs of your shop and a second phone.”
Declan spoke.
“Identity?”
“Still confirming. But the phone contains messages about today’s meeting and instructions to continue pressure on Ms. Mercer until you withdraw.”
Paige closed her eyes.
Finally.
Evidence.
Not instinct.
Not rumor.
“Anything connecting Pike?” Declan asked.
“One of his senior operations people. We’re working upward.”
Declan said nothing.
Paige knew that silence now.
“Go to the meeting.”
“Paige.”
“The watcher is in custody. I’m secure. Police have the phone.”
“You’re asking me to sit across from a man whose organization may have ordered someone to take you.”
“I’m asking you to finish something we decided together.”
Declan breathed out slowly.
“You identified him from a reflection.”
“I restore artwork for a living. Reflections and straight lines pay my mortgage.”
A sound escaped him.
Almost laughter.
Almost disbelief.
“You are impossible.”
“And safe.”
“Those are different conditions.”
“Today they’re close enough.”
Voices sounded near him.
Someone said the property owners had arrived.
Paige looked again at the photograph.
Two nights earlier, her shop window had made her feel trapped.
Now that same pane of glass had exposed the man watching her.
“Declan.”
“I’m here.”
“Don’t make their threat more powerful than my answer.”
Several seconds passed.
“All right.”
She heard a car door open.
“But after this, we’re having a conversation.”
“About security?”
“No.”
His voice softened.
“About the fact that I spent six months pretending I could stay away from you, and now I’m walking into a room where apparently everyone except you already knew I failed.”
Paige’s fingers tightened around the phone.
“Then stop pretending.”
Silence again.
Different this time.
“I’ll call when it’s done.”
“I’ll answer.”
• • •
Declan entered the conference room at 3:02 p.m. carrying nothing.
Warren Pike was already sitting at the far end of the table.
Six commercial property owners occupied the remaining seats alongside attorneys, accountants and representatives from two logistics companies.
Pike smiled.
“I expected more preparation.”
Declan took his chair.
“I prepared.”
The meeting began with numbers.
Lease commitments.
Warehouse access.
Labor costs.
Insurance.
Pike spoke confidently.
Too confidently.
He promised faster development, lower overhead and immediate investment.
Declan mostly listened.
Ten minutes passed.
Then fifteen.
Pike seemed delighted by his silence.
Finally he leaned back.
“Maybe Callahan has other things on his mind.”
Declan looked up.
“Such as?”
Pike smiled.
“Business becomes difficult when a man starts worrying about what happens outside his office.”
Nobody moved.
Declan’s phone vibrated once.
He ignored it.
Pike continued.
“A man can lose perspective when he’s distracted.”
“You seem unusually interested in my perspective.”
“I’m interested in these contracts.”
“Then discuss them.”
Pike’s smile thinned.
Silence settled.
Declan had learned long ago that impatient men hated silence more than accusation.
Eventually, they filled it themselves.
Pike laughed.
“Come on, Callahan. You’re prepared to burn millions because somebody frightened a woman in a frame shop.”
Nobody at the table breathed.
Declan’s expression did not change.
“Which shop?”
Pike blinked.
“What?”
“You said frame shop. Which one?”
Pike sat straighter.
“I heard about what happened.”
“From whom?”
“Chicago isn’t a village.”
Declan turned to the property owners.
“Did any of you know what type of business the woman involved owns?”
Confused looks moved around the table.
One owner shook his head.
Declan looked back toward Pike.
“The police haven’t released her identity, her business name or the location of the incident.”
Pike’s face changed.
Small.
Almost invisible.
But enough.
“Are we negotiating contracts or playing games?”
“Neither.”
Declan turned over his phone.
The message waiting on screen had come from his attorney.
The man found across from Paige’s shop had been formally arrested.
Communications from his second phone connected him to one of Pike’s senior operators.
Declan slid the message toward the attorney beside him.
The attorney read it.
Then distributed documents to the property owners.
“Before this meeting,” Declan said, “each owner was informed that police were investigating attempted coercion connected to these negotiations.”
Pike pushed his chair backward.
“That’s an accusation.”
“No.”
Declan looked around the table.
“It’s information they can consider when deciding whose companies they want attached to their property.”
The oldest owner closed Pike’s proposal.
“I don’t.”
Pike turned.
“You’re walking away from millions because Callahan’s girlfriend got scared?”
Declan’s jaw tightened at girlfriend.
But he remained seated.
The owner shook his head.
“I’m walking away because you apparently think fear is a negotiating strategy.”
A second owner pushed Pike’s proposal aside.
“So am I.”
Then a third.
The logistics executive closed his folder.
“Without those properties, your numbers no longer work for us.”
Pike looked around the room as months of work disappeared one decision at a time.
No threats.
No violence.
No raised voices.
Just people refusing to sign.
Pike stared at Declan.
“You arranged this.”
Declan shook his head.
“You did.”
“You frightened them.”
“You frightened them.”
Pike stood.
“You’re destroying a business relationship over some woman.”
Declan rose slowly.
The room seemed smaller.
“No.”
His voice remained quiet.
“You destroyed it because you thought caring about someone made me easier to control.”
Pike’s eyes darkened.
“You think this makes you strong?”
“I think you mistook restraint for weakness.”
Declan glanced toward the owners.
“Everyone here made his own decision. That’s the difference between influence and coercion.”
Pike had no answer.
Nothing he could say would erase the last ten minutes.
He gathered his papers.
The oldest owner stopped him.
“Leave the proposal.”
Pike stared.
“Why?”
“Our attorneys may need it.”
That was when his confidence finally broke.
Pike left without another word.
Declan remained until the owners formally agreed to continue the redevelopment process without Pike’s companies.
Only then did he step into the hallway and call Paige.
She answered before the second ring.
“Did you win?”
Declan leaned against the wall.
“No.”
A pause.
“That’s encouraging.”
For the first time that afternoon, he smiled.
“We did.”
Paige exhaled.
“What happened?”
“Pike talked too much. Police found enough. The owners walked away.”
“So it’s finished?”
“His leverage is gone. His contracts are gone. Police will handle the rest.”
“Good.”
Declan looked through the glass wall.
Pike was crossing the lobby alone.
“Paige.”
“Yes?”
“I’m coming to see you.”
Silence.
Then she asked the question he deserved.
“Are you asking?”
Declan closed his eyes.
Even now.
Especially now.
“May I come see you?”
Her answer was soft.
“Yes.”
By the time Declan arrived at Maeve’s condo, the police had confirmed that the man found across from Paige’s shop had worked under Pike’s senior lieutenant.
The investigation would continue.
Declan made no promises about punishment.
He did not tell Paige everything would magically disappear.
He did not pretend men like Warren Pike vanished simply because one plan failed.
Instead, he stepped from the private elevator and found Paige standing inside the open doorway.
He stopped several feet away.
“Can I come in?”
Paige studied him.
Then stepped aside.
“You remembered how doors work.”
“I’m learning.”
The guard remained downstairs, exactly as they had agreed.
No extra men appeared.
No car was waiting to carry her away.
No one had packed her belongings.
Paige noticed.
Declan entered.
She closed the door herself.
“The detective called.”
“What did he say?”
“They think Pike’s lieutenant coordinated everything.”
“Yes.”
“And Pike?”
“They’ll follow whatever evidence supports.”
Paige nodded.
That mattered.
Declan had power.
But for once, he wasn’t promising consequences he had no legitimate right to control.
She leaned against the kitchen island.
“So what happens to me now?”
Six months earlier, Declan would have answered immediately.
New apartment.
New security.
New driver.
New routine.
A life rebuilt according to his definition of safety.
Tonight, he put both hands into his pockets.
“You tell me.”
Paige’s expression softened.
“Better.”
“I’m trying.”
“I can see that.”
Silence settled between them.
Not uncomfortable.
Just unfinished.
Declan looked at the woman he had spent months avoiding.
“I told myself staying away was protecting you.”
“It wasn’t.”
“No.”
“Then what was it?”
He considered lying.
She saw it.
He didn’t.
“Fear dressed up as a decision I could defend.”
“Fear of Pike?”
“No.”
His eyes remained on hers.
“Fear of wanting something I couldn’t control.”
Paige smiled faintly.
“You really hate that.”
“More than is reasonable.”
“And now?”
Declan took one step closer.
Then stopped before entering her space.
“Now I know disappearing didn’t protect you. It only meant you didn’t get to choose what happened between us.”
Paige nodded.
“I don’t want your empire.”
“Good.”
“I don’t want your men rearranging my life.”
“Understood.”
“I keep my shop.”
“Obviously.”
“My apartment.”
“Paige—”
“I’m establishing terms.”
“Of course you are.”
She laughed.
For the first time since the stranger appeared outside her window, the tightness inside Declan’s chest loosened.
“What do you want?” he asked.
Paige walked toward him.
“Dinner.”
He blinked.
“Dinner?”
“You spent six months avoiding me, two nights terrifying a measurable percentage of Chicago, and forty-eight hours discovering that apparently every criminal within ten miles knew you liked me before I did.”
“I did not terrorize Chicago.”
“We can negotiate percentages over dessert.”
He laughed.
Not the almost-laugh she had heard before.
A real one.
Quiet and unexpectedly warm.
Paige stared at him.
“I’ve never heard you do that.”
“You make it difficult.”
“Dinner,” she repeated.
“Dinner.”
“And after dinner…”
She let the words hang.
Declan’s expression changed.
“After dinner?”
“Maybe you can finally kiss me.”
He became completely still.
Paige almost smiled.
“Unless the famous Declan Callahan is scared.”
“I am.”
That surprised her.
“Of kissing me?”
“Of assuming.”
Something inside her softened.
“Then ask.”
His eyes dropped briefly to her mouth.
Then returned to her eyes.
“Paige, may I kiss you?”
“Yes.”
Declan touched her face with one hand.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Giving her enough time to move.
She didn’t.
When he kissed her, it wasn’t the collision Paige might once have imagined from a man like him.
It was warm.
Almost cautious.
Until her fingers closed around the front of his shirt.
Then months of silence disappeared between them.
No ownership.
No promises made in adrenaline.
No claim stronger than the answer she had already given.
Yes.
When they separated, Paige rested her forehead against his.
“Trainable.”
Declan closed his eyes.
“Don’t tell anyone.”
Three months later, the Callahan family portrait hung in Maeve’s dining room.
Originally, she had insisted it belonged in Declan’s house.
Then she decided his house was “too gloomy for people who survived the Great Depression and deserved better lighting.”
Declan did not argue.
Paige suspected age had finally taught him to recognize unwinnable battles.
Mercer Frames reopened eleven days after the incident.
Paige still unlocked the front door every morning herself.
She still restored paintings, rebuilt antique frames and argued with customers who believed gold leaf should somehow cost less because “it’s barely any material.”
Declan still ran businesses she preferred not to discuss before coffee.
Security remained part of their life.
But now it was discussed.
Not imposed.
One camera became three after Paige agreed that the old system was terrible.
A better lock went on the alley door.
Declan suggested a driver.
Paige said no.
He did not bring it up again.
Some evenings he came to the shop after closing.
He waited while Paige finished working.
Sometimes he brought dinner.
Sometimes Maeve came with him and took immediate control of both their evenings.
Declan never sent someone upstairs to tell Paige he was waiting.
He never summoned her.
He never decided where she would go before asking whether she wanted to go there.
One cold February night, Paige switched off the restoration lamps and stopped beside the side window.
The same window.
Three months earlier, a stranger had stood outside that glass and used Declan’s name as a weapon.
For a moment Paige could almost see him again.
The black gloves.
The polite smile.
Mr. Callahan wants to talk.
The words had frightened her because they assumed something important.
That Declan’s name could decide her actions.
The men who sent him had made the same mistake Declan once had.
They had both believed Paige’s choices could be made for her.
One through fear.
The other through protection.
Neither had understood her.
Declan understood now.
At least, he was learning.
Paige locked the window herself.
She walked downstairs.
Turned off the front lights.
Set the alarm.
Then opened the door.
Declan stood across the sidewalk beside his car, hands tucked into the pockets of a charcoal coat.
He did not wave.
He did not call her over.
He didn’t send anyone to get her.
He simply waited.
Paige locked the shop.
She crossed the sidewalk because she wanted to.
Declan opened the passenger door.
She stopped beside him.
“You know I can open my own door.”
“I do.”
“Yet you’re opening it.”
“I’m attempting romance.”
“Bold strategy.”
“Is it working?”
Paige looked at him.
The silver at his temples.
The scar near his jaw she had never asked about.
The man half the city feared and one elderly aunt ignored completely.
Then she closed the car door again without getting inside.
Declan frowned.
“What?”
Paige stepped closer.
“Dinner can wait.”
Before he could answer, she kissed him beneath the winter lights.
Declan’s hand settled carefully against her waist.
Across the street, Mercer Frames stood dark and quiet.
The fire escape was empty.
The window was locked.
The danger had not transformed into some perfect fairy tale.
Warren Pike still faced an investigation.
Declan’s world remained complicated.
Paige’s remained stubbornly ordinary.
There would be arguments.
Boundaries.
Fear.
Days when Declan would try to solve things she had not asked him to solve.
Days when Paige would refuse help simply because refusing was easier than admitting she needed it.
Their lives would not become simple because they loved each other.
But neither of them wanted simple badly enough to lie anymore.
When Paige finally pulled away, Declan looked down at her.
“What was that for?”
She smiled.
“For waiting.”
He glanced at the shop.
“I can do that.”
“You couldn’t six months ago.”
“No.”
“And now?”
Declan reached for her hand but stopped before touching it.
Paige noticed.
Then she placed her hand in his.
“Now,” he said, “I know the difference between waiting for you and deciding for you.”
Paige squeezed his fingers.
“Good answer.”
“Trainable?”
“Possibly.”
They walked toward the car together.
Three months earlier, somebody had come to Paige Mercer’s window believing Declan Callahan’s name was powerful enough to make her follow.
In the end, the stranger had been wrong about the most important thing.
Declan’s name had never been what brought Paige toward him.
His willingness to let her choose was.
THE END.
