St. Clair: I'm outside.
After I've sent it, my thumb hovers over her name on my phone. I don't do it. Having her name as Myers instead of Cecilia is good.
Distance is good.
But distance is an illusion, I realize, watching her step out of the club. She has an arm wrapped tightly around her friend, the dark-haired woman who'd served as our witness. The artist I'm to patron.
I lean across the empty passenger seat and lower the window. "Myers!"
Our eyes meet. Her dark hair is loose and curled around her face, a messy tendril falling across her cheek. She gives me a wide smile. Like I'm her favorite person ever.
"There he is!"
Her friend laughs and they walk, still entangled, to my car. Both of them.
I'm frowning as they help themselves into the backseat.
"Hi," Cecilia says.
"Hello," her friend says.
"Can we make a stop in Brooklyn first?"
Across the river, she means. Hell no. I open my mouth to say just that, looking at her through the rearview mirror. Cecilia's gazing right back at me. Her eyes are wide, and earnest, and… happy. The retort dies on my tongue.
"Okay," I hear myself say.
She smiles and I look away from the rearview mirror. I drive in silence toward the Brooklyn Bridge, thankful for the lack of traffic.
I'm Steven for the night, it seems.
"Thank you for this," her friend says from the backseat. Nadine? Is that her name? "I appreciate it."
I glance up to see her measured look, and give her a nod in return.
The two of them exchange murmured farewells in the backseat and hug firmly. Cecilia says something against Nadine's ear that leaves both of them laughing. I frown, knowing it's about me.
"Goodbye!" Nadine tells me. "Thank you again for everything!"
I nod, fingers drumming against the steering wheel. I'm just about to floor it when Cecilia surprises me by getting out as well.
She slides into the passenger seat beside me with a smile, fastening her seat belt. "Thank you. I wanted to ask you if you could drop off Nadine as well, but cell reception was really bad in there."
She tugs at the tight dress she's wearing, pulling it back down over smooth knees and thighs. "Aren't you cold?"
"A little," she says. "But I'm too happy to be cold."
I drum my fingers again, fighting with my own instinct, and losing. "I'll bite. Why?"
"Nadine is headlining an art exhibit next month!"
"You went out to celebrate."
"Yes. We had to, you know. Ivory isn't the best club in the city, but you always know you're in for a good time." She leans back in the seat, settling into the plush leather, and gives a happy little sigh. "Thank you for picking me up."
"Oh! You're driving!"
"Last time I checked, yes."
"But where's Steven?" She glances back, as if he's lurking in the backseat.
It makes my lips curl. "He has the night off. He's not hiding in the trunk, if that's what you're thinking."
"So you're driving." Her eyes look glazed and her full lips are smiling, as if they can't do anything else, as if she's locked in happiness for tonight.
"Still am, yes."
She chuckles and reaches down to take off her heels, just as she had after the Conway's dinner. "Dancing in these should be illegal."
I have nothing to say to that, so I don't. But I watch the length of her bare legs as she stretches them out.
"I didn't mean to.. well." She looks over at me, hesitation in her eyes. "Why did you call me? To see where I was?"
"You weren't home, it was late, and you usually are."
"I didn't know you wanted me to tell you when I'll be out."
I keep my eyes on the road. "Neither did I, to tell you the truth."
There's silence between us, punctuated by the sound of her turning in her seat. "You were up late, then?"
"I couldn't sleep."
"You're gone some nights, too."
I don't know what to say to that. It's not something I can put into words, and even if I did, I doubt she'd… no.
"I didn't know you noticed."
"I have," she says. "And I don't call you to ask where you're going."
"No, I suppose you don't."
She clears her throat, and there's something tight beneath the cheerfulness. "I appreciate the ride home. But I can be out for as long and as often as I'd like, just the same as you."
I can't argue with that. Nor can I admit to the feeling of unease when she wasn't home. "Noted. It was just out of the ordinary for you, and so I... checked in."
She relaxes against the seat, palms flat on her knees. I glance at her left hand and find it bare. Of course. The rings are with me, back in the safety box at home.