Thirty minutes later, he climbed the flight of stairs back to Sierra’s apartment. Before he let himself in, he paused outside her door for half a second, thinking how weird it was to let himself in anywhere besides his own place or his mom’s house. He’d not gotten that comfortable with anyone before, and he wasn’t sure he was comfortable with it now.

With a shrug, he reminded himself he didn’t want Sierra getting off the couch and hopping across the room to open the door for him.

She looked up when he walked in, and the first thing he noticed was that she’d managed to shower and had a different ice pack on her ankle. Instead of her dusty work clothes, she wore yoga pants and a baggy hooded sweatshirt, nothing but the ice pack on her feet, and her hair was damp and down, falling over her shoulders.

She was sitting with her legs stretched out on the sectional, perpendicular to the chaise, her back against the arm of it, facing him and the rest of the room. Her laptop, which he’d brought up before he left, was on her lap, and an almost-empty wineglass sat on a small mosaic table that angled over the cushion of the chaise, a dark, uncorked bottle next to it.

“You showered,” he said.

“You’re brilliant,” she popped right back, sitting up straighter, her eyes lit up like they hadn’t been when he’d left.

“Wet hair gave it away.” He set the food bag down on the end table next to the couch.

“No. I mean, you’re brilliant. This… The Eldridge thing…” She pointed at the laptop screen. “The changes you made… Your writing…” She sputtered like he hadn’t heard her sputter before, then shook her head. “We need to talk. There’s a story. But food…”

Evidently, she’d been reading the email he’d sent her that morning with his suggested changes to the Eldridge Mansion application. He suspected he knew what she was going to ask about, what story she was going to demand. Maybe she’d forget, be sidetracked by dinner.

As he walked into the kitchen area, he asked, “Where are the plates?”

She directed, “To the left of the sink. There might be a couple of beers in the back of the fridge, or you’re welcome to some wine. Or water or soda. Help yourself. I’d get it for you, but—”

“Don’t you dare.” He took another wineglass from the cabinet. He wasn’t a big wine drinker and knew he ran zero risk of overindulging.