Page 114 of Instigator

She looks back at me.

Together, we shake our heads.

“Nah. Not for us,” she says.

Ryan shakes the officiant’s hand. “Thank you.”

“Wishing you a lifetime of happiness.”

I reach into my breast pocket, pulling out the two tickets I have stashed away.

“For you,” I offer.

“We can’t take bribes,” Judge McCall says.

“Not a bribe. A thank-you. Center ice, first row on the glass.” He won’t reach for them, so I place them on his desk. “Use them, throw them away, I don’t care. Thank you for all that you do.”

Ceci reaches for me again, and I take her hand in mine.

“Ready?” she asks me.

“Let’s go party.”

forty-three

. . .

Ceci

Colt stares at me over our harvest bowl salads. We’re back at the bistro, at my favorite table in the corner, and he has his tablet out to jot down notes.

“Okay, what is it?” He has that infuriatingly knowing look in his eyes, like he’s already figured out the answer and refuses to clue me in.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I mutter, stabbing a sweet potato cube out of the bowl.

“You’re a shell of yourself today. It’s not like you.” His eyes narrow. “Did you and the hockey player have a fight?”

I roll my eyes. “No. I was up all night coding.”

“Oh?”

“Third time in two weeks,” I admit.

Colt blinks, then sits back in his seat. “Wow. Really?”

I nod, playing with my food instead of eating. “I don’t know what I’m doing. But it’s fun to get my hands dirty again.”

He chuckles. “You always did have a hard time letting go.”

“Like you’re one to talk.” He’s just as much a workaholic as I am. It’s simply more socially acceptable for men than for women to be utterly consumed by their work.

And considering how much I love what I do… working isn’t a hardship. It brings joy into my life.

“I know exactly what I’m talking about,” he fires back. “That’s why I said what I said.”

“This is new. It’s super new.” So new I’ve barely told Aidan about it. Broad strokes only, not the details. I’m not ready. Once I open that can of worms, it becomes real.

“But you can’t stop thinking about it,” he says, pointing at me with his fork.