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She looks unsure, but nods anyway.

By the time we finish up, I’m dead on my feet. How she stays so fucking happy all the time, I have no idea. It must be exhausting putting your customer-service face on for ten hours straight. In my job at least, my face could show how I feel—which is mostly indifferent. She has to look happy regardless of what’s going on.

Toward the end of the day, she slips her hand into mine. Her shoulders have slipped from their perfect posture and she lets out a large yawn.

“Tired?”

“Exhausted. We have dinner plans tomorrow night with Nicole and Josh from Cowgirl Clothing, the Texas brand, but can we just stay in tonight? I wanna get in bed, put on a movie, and just chill.”

“Whatever you want, Killer. Let’s get room service.”

“Ooh, I’ve never had room service before! I’m going to go full Kevin McCalister.” She laughs, rubbing her hand across her palm like she’s throwing money around.

“Anything you want.” She could have asked me to take her to dinner in Paris, and I would have said yes.

“We should get you a key to the room from the front desk,” she says, pushing me through the hotel lobby.

“I have a room. I asked them to move your things.”

“And they did it? Without asking me?” She frowns.

“I can be very persuasive when I want to be.” I shuffle from foot to foot. I keep thinking back to Dr. Alfie’s advice. Take things slow. Let her adjust. Don’t rush her. Could this be too much? I should have asked for permission before moving her things.

We head to the elevator, and I press “PH.”

“PH? We’re going to the penthouse?” she squeals.

Relief surges through me. She doesn’t seem upset; sheseems eager and excited. She’s practically hopping. I waggle my eyebrows, and as the doors open with a ding, I put my hand on the small of her back, guiding her through the corridor and to the room.

She steps inside, slipping off her shoes. Her toes wiggle slightly before she starts laughing.

“Austin, this is bigger than my house.”

Her hand runs along the back of the couch before stepping around the front and flopping onto it.

“Food?”

“God, yes. I’m starving.”

“Such a drama queen.” I roll my eyes, but I love seeing her like this. So carefree. She seems so much younger like this; she’s acting like a twenty-four-year-old, not burdened with the responsibilities of caring for her young brother.

“Says the guy who literally pretended to get kidnapped so he could spend time with me.”

Her head pops up over the sofa, cautiously gauging my reaction, but as soon as I grin, she laughs.

“Shall we talk about this week?” I say, lifting her legs so I can sit on the couch with her legs draped over mine.

“I...I missed you. I know it’s an odd thing to say.”

“I’ve been right downstairs, baby.”

She nods. “I know. I saw you’ve been sleeping in the bed in the basement. I just thought you’ve changed your mind or something. I thought I’d ruined it.”

She looks so innocent like this, tucked into the sofa, holding a throw pillow against her chest like a shield.

“No, I wanted you to have space, to accept the new reality of me being around of my own volition. I wanted you to know that I wasn’t going anywhere, that you can trust me to keep to my word.”

“I do trust you.”