Cuff Me(20)

They were saved from a full-blown argument by the arrival of their food, and before he realized what he was doing, Vin was cutting off part of his burger—not quite half, but at least a third—and was putting it on a side plate and sliding it across the table.

He watched her face, feeling almost shy… wondering if she would accept the shared burger for what it was. A peace offering.

And from the sunny smile she gave him, he warmed just a little. She understood.

But the warmth vanished as quickly as it arrived with her next words.

“You asked about a wedding date. We’re thinking June.”

June. That was in four months.

The fry and ketchup in his mouth suddenly didn’t taste as good.

“That’s fast,” he said eventually, because he had to say something. “You got a hankering to be a June bride or something?”

“Not really.” She fiddled with a burned corn chip on the edge of the nacho platter and didn’t look at him. “Tom thinks we should get married before we move.”

Vincent’s burger paused in midair, halfway to his face. He slowly put it back down again.

“Move?” His voice sounded rusty. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Move where?”

She was slow to meet his eyes. “Tom’s opening up a new property. It’ll take up all his time, and we want to spend our first months as newlyweds together, so—”

“Jill,” he interrupted. “Move. Where?”

She licked her lips. “Chicago. We’re moving to Chicago in the summer.”

It was the second time in twenty-four hours that Jill Henley had dropped a bomb on his head, but this time, his subconscious must have been prepared.

Because no sooner were the words out of her mouth, then Vincent knew.

Knew that there was no way he was letting Jill Henley walk away from him. Walk away from them, and what they had.

Whatever that was.

He only knew that the thought of her moving away…

… It felt like he couldn’t breathe.





CHAPTER NINE


Even before Vincent and Jill had become partners—before they’d even known of the other person’s existence—they’d both lived in Astoria, Queens.

Manhattan rent was outside of a comfortable cop’s salary (unless you were like Vin’s brothers and had a grandmother hooked up with rent control).

Brooklyn was slightly more affordable—or at least it had been, back when Jill was looking for her first New York apartment a few years ago—but then she’d toured the cozy one-bedroom in Astoria and she’d felt…

Home.

Sure, it was a longer-than-desirable commute into the city, and yeah, there was nothing trendy or particularly sexy about it. It wasn’t the New York City one saw on TVs or the movies, or even the gritty NYC one saw in the other types of movies.

Astoria was one of those New York neighborhoods that inspired loyalty in its residents for reasons they could never quite explain to nonresidents. You either lived there and got it… or you didn’t.

But Vincent? He got it.

Jill knew this because he, like her, had never voiced interest in moving anywhere else, even when their most recent raise might have allowed for it.

And living just a few minutes away from her partner had other perks, like easy carpooling.

The morning after her and Vincent’s gorge on nachos and burgers and beer, Jill dropped into the passenger seat of the car with a grumpy huff.

“Caffeine,” she said. “I need all the caffeine.”

She jumped a little in surprise when a travel mug appeared in front of her face. She started to push his wrist aside. “No, not your coffee. You know I don’t like it all thick and tarlike.”

It was one of their many differences. Vin preferred his coffee blacker than his wardrobe. Jill preferred cream. And sugar. Preferably mass amounts of both.

“You know, all this time together, and I never realized how you drink your coffee,” Vincent said in a sarcastic voice.

Jill turned to look at him.

He looked… the same.

Same aviator glasses, same simply styled black hair. Same dark shirt, same leather jacket, same dark pants.

But something was different today.

She narrowed her eyes as he extended the mug to her once more with his right hand. And this time she registered that he had a second mug in his left hand.

One for him…

And one for her?

“Don’t worry,” he said, giving it a little shake. “I dumped in all sorts of cavity-causing goodness for you.”

“Thanks?” Jill said. She accepted the mug, taking a tentative sip. It was good. Really good. Not just a packet of sugar and a splash of milk good, but like…

“Is this vanilla flavored?” she asked, staring down at the mug.

Vincent still hadn’t pulled away from the curb outside of her apartment. “French vanilla if you want to get fancy.”

She shifted in her seat to stare at him. “This is your backup travel cup, which tells me you brought this from home, not a coffee shop. Which begs the question… why does a man who thinks anything other than black coffee is a sin have French vanilla coffee creamer at his apartment?”

He looked at her over the rim of his own mug. Took a sip without a response.