Catherine Chandler stared at the departure board at O’Hare International Airport, watching her flight status change from “DELAYED” to “CANCELED” in glowing orange letters. She closed her eyes and counted to ten, reminding herself that losing her temper in the middle of Chicago’s busiest airport wouldn’t magically conjure a plane out of thin air. More than anything, she just wanted to get home.

“Well, this is just perfect,” came a familiar voice beside her. Joe Maxwell, her boss at the Manhattan District Attorney’s Office, stood with his hands on his hips, his tie loosened, and his usually impeccable suit jacket slung over one arm. His dark hair was slightly disheveled, and he looked about as thrilled as she felt. “Air traffic controller strike. Of all the –”

“Language, Joe,” Catherine said with a slight smile, despite her frustration. “There are children present.”

Joe glanced around at the chaos surrounding them – families camped out on the floor, business travelers frantically looking for pay phones, and airline employees looking like they’d rather be anywhere else on Earth. “Yeah, well, those kids are about to learn some new vocabulary if we don’t figure out how to get back to New York.”

Catherine spotted a bank of pay phones across the terminal and gestured toward them. “Maybe we can get a flight out of Midway? Or even Milwaukee?”

“Already checked,” Joe said, shaking his head. “Every airport within a three-state radius is backed up. The strike hit right at peak travel time. We’re looking at maybe – maybe – getting a flight out Monday or Tuesday.”

“Monday or Tuesday?” Catherine’s voice rose an octave. She thought of Vincent, waiting for her at home, and felt a flutter of anxiety in her chest. “Joe, we have the Castellano deposition on Monday morning at nine. And you’re scheduled for two court appearances that afternoon.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Joe ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up even more. “Judge Burnstein will have my head on a platter if I’m not there for the Ramirez case. We’ve been trying to get that trial date for six months.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of their predicament settling over them like a heavy blanket. Catherine had been looking forward to getting home, to her house, to the Below. To… well, to the life waiting for her there. The week-long conference in Chicago had been productive but exhausting, and all she wanted was to be back where she belonged – with the person who mattered most to her.

“Okay,” Joe said suddenly, his expression shifting into what Catherine recognized as his problem-solving mode. “Okay, I have an idea.”

Catherine raised an eyebrow. “Why do I have a feeling I’m not going to like this?”

“We rent a car. Drive back.”

“Drive back? Joe, that’s –what – twelve, fourteen hours?”

“Twelve if we push it, fourteen with stops,” Joe confirmed. “It’s Friday afternoon. If we leave within the hour, drive through the evening, stop somewhere overnight, then finish the drive tomorrow, we’ll be back in New York by Saturday night. Plenty of time to get some sleep before Monday morning.”

Catherine stared at him. Fourteen hours in a car was not her idea of a good time. But fourteen hours was better than being stuck here for days, and it was infinitely better than not being home. Vincent would be waiting for her, wondering where she was, feeling the distance between them through their bond. The thought of that separation stretching on for days made her chest tighten.

“You want to spend fourteen hours in a car with me?” she asked, but her mind was already made up.

“Well, when you put it that way, it sounds like a prison sentence,” Joe said with a grin. “Come on, Radcliffe. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“I left it somewhere between the rubber chicken dinner last night and the three-hour panel on prosecutorial ethics this morning.”

“Look, I know it’s not ideal,” Joe said, his tone becoming more serious. “But what choice do we have? We can’t miss Monday. The office is counting on us. And between you and me, I’d rather spend fourteen hours in a car with you than sit in this airport for three days eating overpriced pizza and sleeping on these chairs.”

Catherine looked around at the crowded terminal, then back at Joe. She was still holding out hope for another solution that wouldn’t be so…taxing. Joe had that determined look in his eyes, the same one he got when he was about to argue a case he absolutely refused to lose. She knew that look well. She’d seen it directed at defense attorneys, at judges, at uncooperative witnesses. And now it was directed at her.

Focused now solely on the idea of getting home as soon as humanly possible, she responded, “Fine, but I’m picking the music.”

Joe’s face broke into a wide smile. “Deal. Let’s go find a rental car before everyone else has the same idea.”

Before they headed to the rental car counter, Catherine spotted a gift shop and impulsively ducked inside. She emerged a few minutes later with a bright yellow t-shirt emblazoned with a cartoon cheeseburger and the words “CHICAGO’S FAMOUS CHEEZBORGER” in bold letters. She grinned sheepishly at Joe’s raised eyebrow. “What? It’s a souvenir.” She tucked it carefully into her carry-on bag, already imagining Vincent’s bemused expression when she gave it to him.

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, they were standing in front of their “rental car” – a bright yellow Volkswagen Beetle that looked like it had seen better days, possibly in a previous decade.

“This is what they had left?” Catherine asked, circling the vehicle with undisguised skepticism.

“This is what they had left that I could afford on the DA’s office travel budget,” Joe corrected. “Unless you wanted to spring for the luxury Buick Electra at one hundred dollars a day?”

“I’m just saying, if we’re going to spend the next fourteen hours in a car, it might be nice if that car didn’t look like a giant lemon.”

“It’s sunshine yellow, thank you very much,” Joe said, loading their bags into the surprisingly spacious trunk. “Very cheerful. Very optimistic.”

“Very visible to every state trooper between here and New York,” Catherine muttered, but she was smiling as she climbed into the passenger seat.

Joe settled behind the wheel and adjusted the mirrors. “Okay, Radcliffe. You’re on navigation duty. Get us to New York in one piece, and I’ll buy you the best cup of coffee Manhattan has to offer when we get back.”

“Just coffee? After fourteen hours in a car with you, I’m thinking dinner at that Italian place you’re always talking about.”

“Mama Leone’s? You drive a hard bargain, Counselor.”

“I learned from the best,” Catherine said, unfolding a worn road map across her lap. She traced the route with her finger. “Okay, looks like we take I-90 East pretty much the whole way. Should be straightforward.”

“Famous last words,” Joe said, but he was grinning as he pulled out of the rental lot and headed toward the highway.

For the first hour, things went smoothly. They made good time getting out of Chicago, and once they hit the open highway, Joe settled into a comfortable cruising speed. Catherine had popped a cassette tape into the car’s stereo that she found in the glove compartment – a mix of 80s pop and classic rock that Joe pretended to complain about but was clearly enjoying.

“So,” Joe said as they crossed into Indiana, “how does it feel to be officially done with your first major conference?”

She glanced at her watch and did a quick calculation. They’d been on the road for just over an hour. Her thoughts went to Vincent. She wondered if he was Below visiting with Father, or at home, reading a book. The thought made her chest tighten slightly. She hated being away from him. She hadn’t had a chance to call him yet. She thought it might be easier to get him a message if she called a helper who could send down a message for him.  But he might already know something was up because she was inching very slowly back home.

Catherine turned her attention back to the road ahead, reminding herself that they’d be home by tomorrow evening. Just a few more hours than she’d planned. Vincent would understand.

“Exhausting,” Catherine admitted. “But good. I learned a lot. That session on white-collar crime prosecution was particularly interesting.”

“Yeah? Thinking about specializing?”

“Maybe. I don’t know yet. I like the variety we get in the DA’s office. Every case is different.”

“That’s what I love about it, too,” Joe said. “Never a dull moment. Although sometimes I wouldn’t mind a few dull moments, you know? Just for variety.”

Catherine laughed. “Joe Maxwell wants a quiet day? Who are you and what have you done with my boss?”

“Hey, I can appreciate peace and quiet. I’m a man of many layers, Radcliffe.”

“Like an onion?”

“Like a sophisticated, complex individual with depth and nuance.”

“Right. An onion.”

Joe shot her a look, but he was fighting a smile. “You know, for someone who works for me, you show a remarkable lack of respect for authority.”

“You like me because I don’t back down from a fight,” Catherine reminded him. “Can’t have it both ways, Joe.”

“Fair point.”

They drove in comfortable silence for a while, watching the Indiana landscape roll by. Catherine found herself relaxing a bit despite the circumstances, and Joe was good company when he wasn’t in full DA mode.

“So,” Joe said casually, too casually, “you never told me how your weekend was before the conference. Do anything interesting?”

Catherine felt herself tense slightly. “Just the usual. Caught up on some reading, went for a run in the park. Nothing exciting.”

“No hot date or anything?”

“Joe –”

“I’m just asking,” he said innocently. “You know, making conversation. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”

“Uh-huh.” Catherine kept her eyes on the road ahead. “What about you? How was your weekend?”

“Nice deflection, Counselor. I see what you’re doing there.”

“I learned from the best,” she repeated with a sweet smile.

Joe chuckled. “Okay, okay. I can take a hint. But you know, Radcliffe, you’re a mystery. You’ve been working at the DA’s office for what, almost three years now? And I still know very little about your personal life.”

“Maybe I like being mysterious.”

“Or maybe there’s someone special you’re keeping secret,” Joe said, glancing at her with a knowing look. “Someone you don’t want the office gossips to know about?”

Catherine felt her cheeks warm. If only he knew. “Can we please change the subject?”

“Why? Am I hitting too close to home?”

“Joe –”

“Because I’ve noticed you disappear sometimes. Leave work early, or come in looking like you didn’t sleep much. And you’ve get this goofy look sometimes, like you’re thinking about someone…someone special.”

“I do not get a goofy look.”

“You totally get a look – like you’ve been on the best date ….or…” he teased, raising an eyebrow.

“Joe, I swear, if you don’t change the subject right now, I’m going to navigate us through every small town between here and New York.”

Joe held up one hand in surrender, the other still on the wheel. “Okay, okay. Subject changed. But for the record, whoever he is, he’s a lucky guy.”

Catherine didn’t respond, just turned to look out the window. If only it were that simple. If only she could explain about Vincent, about her husband, about the tunnels, about the impossible, beautiful, but complicated relationship. But she couldn’t. Not to Joe, not to anyone in her “above-ground” life. Not…yet, at least.

“Hey,” Joe said more gently. “I didn’t mean to pry. I just…I care about you, Radcliffe. You’re not just a colleague. You’re a friend. And I want to make sure you’re happy.”

Catherine turned back to him, touched by the sincerity in his voice. “I know, Joe. And I appreciate it. I really do. It’s just…complicated.”

“The good ones usually are,” Joe said with a slight smile.

Before Catherine could respond, there was a loud POP, and the car suddenly lurched to the right. Joe fought with the steering wheel, carefully guiding the vehicle to the shoulder of the highway.

“What the hell was that?” Catherine asked, gripping the door handle.

Joe put the car in park and turned on the hazard lights. “I think we just blew a tire.”

They both got out and walked around to the passenger side, where the front tire was completely flat, shredded rubber hanging off the rim.

“Well,” Catherine said, staring at the destroyed tire. “This is just perfect.”

Joe popped the trunk and started rummaging around. “Okay, there should be a spare in here somewhere. And a jack. How hard can it be to change a tire?”

Catherine raised an eyebrow. “Have you ever changed a tire before?”

“How hard can it be?” Joe repeated, pulling out what looked like a jack, or possibly a medieval torture device. “People do it all the time.”

“People who know what they’re doing do it all the time.”

“I’m a quick learner.”

Forty-five minutes later, they were both sitting on the side of the highway, covered in dirt and grease, staring at the car, which now sat at a slightly alarming angle.

“I think the jack is broken,” Joe said.

“I think we’re broken,” Catherine replied. “And possibly cursed.”

A state trooper pulled up behind them, lights flashing. A large, friendly-looking officer got out and surveyed the scene with barely concealed amusement.

“Folks having some trouble?”

“Just a small tire situation,” Joe said, trying to maintain some dignity despite the grease smeared across his forehead. “We’ve got it under control.”

The trooper looked at the car, then at them, then back at the car. “Uh-huh. You know that’s not how you use a jack, right?”

Twenty minutes later, with the trooper’s help, they had the spare tire on and were back on the road. Catherine couldn’t stop laughing.

“It’s not that funny,” Joe grumbled, though he was starting to smile too.

“Joe, you tried to jack up the car from the bumper. The bumper.”

“I was improvising!”

“You looked like you were trying to perform surgery with a wrench.”

“Okay, okay, so I’m not a mechanic. Sue me. Oh, wait, you can’t, you work for me.”

Catherine dissolved into laughter again, and after a moment, Joe joined her. It felt good to laugh, to let go of the stress and frustration of the day.

“You know what?” Joe said. “I’m starving. Let’s find somewhere to eat.”

* * *

They stopped at a small diner just off the highway, the kind of place with red vinyl booths and a laminated menu that offered everything from breakfast to dinner. An attractive waitress with a name tag that read “Dolores” took their order – burgers and fries for both of them, and coffee that looked like it had been sitting on the burner since morning. Dolores winked at Joe as she walked away, and Catherine, catching the gesture, also gave him a playful wink. He turned a nice shade of pink.

“Joe, you’re cute when you’re flustered.” Catherine lightly chuckled, dunking a fry in ketchup, “So, on a scale of one to ten, how would you rate this trip so far?”

“Well, we’ve had a canceled flight, a questionable rental car, a blown tire, and I’ve been publicly humiliated by a state trooper,” Joe counted off on his fingers. “I’d say we’re at about a three.”

“Only a three? You’re generous.”

“I’m an optimist. Things can only go up from here.”

“Joe Maxwell, an optimist. I’m learning so much about you today.”

“Stick with me, Radcliffe. I’m full of surprises.”

Catherine smiled, taking a sip of the terrible coffee. “You know, despite everything, this isn’t the worst way to spend a Friday.”

“Yeah?” Joe looked pleased. “Even with the tire incident?”

“Especially with the tire incident. I’m going to be telling that story for years.”

“Great. Just what I need. More ammunition for the office gossip.”

“Oh, they’re going to love this. ‘Remember that time Joe Maxwell tried to change a tire and nearly destroyed a rental car?'”

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“I really am,” Catherine agreed cheerfully.

They finished their meal and got back on the road as the sun started to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink.

“So,” Joe said after a while, “since you won’t tell me about your love life, how about we play a game?”

“What kind of game?”

“Twenty questions. But about work stuff. Safe territory.”

“Okay,” Catherine said cautiously. “You go first.”

“What’s the hardest case you’ve ever worked on?”

Catherine thought for a moment. “The Patterson case. The domestic violence one from last year. The victim was so scared, and getting her to testify was like pulling teeth. But we won, and she got away from him. That felt good.”

“I remember that case. You did great work on it.”

“Thanks. Okay, my turn. What made you want to be a prosecutor?”

Joe was quiet for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “My dad used to come home and tell stories about the cases he worked, the people he helped. But he’d also talk about the ones that got away, the times when they’d catch the bad guy but the DA’s office couldn’t make the charges stick. I wanted to be the guy who made sure justice got done, you know? Close the loop.”

“That’s a good reason,” Catherine said softly.

“What about you? Why law?”

Catherine quietly thought. “My father. He wanted me to follow in his footsteps. When I was ten, I told him I was going to be a ballerina.” Catherine grinned, “That made him smile. But I think he knew even then that I would follow in his footsteps.”

“Well, you’re definitely doing that,” Joe said. “You’re one of the best ADAs I’ve got, Radcliffe. Don’t tell the others I said that.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.”

They drove on into the evening, trading stories and questions, the conversation flowing easily between them. Catherine found herself relaxing more and more, enjoying Joe’s company. He was funny, smart, and easy to talk to, especially when they weren’t in the middle of a high-pressure case. Still, as the miles accumulated and darkness settled over the highway, she found herself acutely aware of the time slipping away. Vincent would be waiting, sensing her absence through their bond. The thought tugged at her, a constant pull toward home.

Around nine o’clock, Joe started yawning.

“We should probably find a place to stop for the night,” Catherine said, glancing at her watch. She hated the delay, hated the thought of losing more hours, but she knew Joe was exhausted. “You’re going to drive us off the road if you don’t get some sleep.”

“I’m fine,” Joe protested, then immediately yawned again.

“Joe.”

“Okay, okay. Let’s find a motel.” He paused. “We can get back on the road early tomorrow. Make up some time.”

Catherine nodded, grateful for his understanding, even if he didn’t know exactly what she was eager to get back to. A few hours of sleep, and they’d be on their way again. Just a few more hours, she told herself, trying to ignore the restless anxiety that came with being away from Vincent for so long.

They took the next exit and found themselves in a small town that looked like it hadn’t changed much since the 1950s. There was one motel, a small building with a flickering neon sign that read “VACANCY” in pink letters.

“Well,” Catherine said, staring at the establishment. “It’s… rustic.”

“It’s got beds and presumably running water,” Joe said. “At this point, that’s all I need.”

The desk clerk, an elderly man who looked like he might have been there since the motel opened, informed them that they only had one room left.

“One room?” Catherine repeated.

“Yep. Got two double beds, though. Clean sheets, changed ’em myself this morning.”

Joe looked at Catherine. “I mean, we’re both adults. And we’re exhausted. Unless you want to keep driving?”

Catherine thought about it. She was tired, and the idea of getting a few hours of sleep before finishing the drive tomorrow was appealing. And it was just Joe. Her boss, her friend. Nothing weird about it.

“Okay,” she said. “We’ll take it.”

The room was exactly what Catherine expected – dated but clean, with two double beds covered in floral bedspreads, a TV that probably got three channels, and a bathroom with avocado green fixtures. But it was warm and dry, and after the day they’d had, it looked like paradise.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Catherine announced, grabbing her overnight bag. “Try not to break anything while I’m gone.”

“That was one time!” Joe called after her. “And that lamp was already broken!”

When Catherine emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later, feeling considerably more human, she found Joe sprawled on one of the beds, still fully clothed, snoring softly. She smiled and grabbed the extra blanket from the closet, draping it over him.

She settled into her own bed, thinking of Vincent. Through their bond, she knew he sensed she was far away. She’d managed to call one of the helpers during one of their stops to let him know she was safe, driving back to the city with Joe. He would know she was coming home.

It felt like too long ago since she’d felt his arms around her, since she’d rested her head on his chest and heard him tell her – show her – how much he loved her. She was exhausted, but her mind wouldn’t let her fall asleep just yet. She glanced at the clock on the nightstand: 10:47 p.m. Just a few more hours, and she’d be home with him, she thought. She closed her eyes. They needed to leave early. The sooner they got on the road, the sooner she could be where she truly belonged. Finally, sleep took her.

“Morning, sunshine,” Joe said cheerfully. “I found a coffee maker. It’s terrible, but it’s caffeinated.”

“You’re my hero,” Catherine mumbled, accepting the Styrofoam cup he handed her.

They were back on the road by seven, making good time through Ohio. The morning was clear and bright, and Catherine felt surprisingly refreshed despite the less-than-luxurious accommodations.

“So,” Joe said as they crossed into Pennsylvania, “we’re making pretty good time. If traffic cooperates, we should be back in the city by early evening.”

“Thank God,” Catherine said with more intensity than exhaustion alone would warrant. She glanced at her watch, as if calculating the exact minutes remaining. “I need to get home. I’m ready to sleep in my own bed.”

Joe glanced over at her, noticing the urgency in her voice. It was more than just tiredness. He’d known Catherine long enough to recognize when she was holding something back. “You seem pretty eager to get back,” he said casually, keeping his eyes on the road.

“I just miss home,” Catherine said, her tone softening slightly. “You know how it is.”

But Joe wasn’t entirely sure he did. There was something more to it than that, something in the way her fingers drummed against the window, the way she kept checking her watch. Still, he let it go – for now.

“And see that mysterious boyfriend of yours?”

Catherine shot him a look. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Nope. Come on, Radcliffe. Throw me a bone here. Is he tall? Short? Handsome? Ugly? Does he have a job? Is he a criminal? Please tell me he’s not a criminal.”

“He’s not a criminal,” Catherine said, laughing despite herself.

“Okay, good. That would be awkward. Is he smart?”

“Very.”

“Funny?”

“In his own way.”

“Does he treat you well?”

Catherine’s expression softened. “He treats me like I’m the most precious thing in the world.”

Joe was quiet for a moment. “Then he’s a good man. That’s all that matters.”

“Yeah,” Catherine said softly. “He is.”

They drove in comfortable silence for a while, the miles disappearing beneath their wheels. Catherine found herself thinking about the past twenty-four hours, about how much she’d enjoyed spending time with Joe outside of work. He was a good friend. Someone she could count on.

“Hey, Joe?” she said.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for convincing me to do this. The drive, I mean. It’s been… fun. In a chaotic, slightly disastrous kind of way.”

Joe grinned. “You know what? It has been fun. We should do it again sometime.”

“Let’s maybe wait until the next air traffic controller strike.”

“Deal.”

Around noon, they stopped for lunch at a rest stop, stretching their legs and loading up on snacks for the final push to New York. As they were getting back in the car, Catherine spotted a pay phone near the rest stop entrance.

“I’m going to call the office,” she said. “Rita told me she would be in today.”

“Trying to win brownie points with the boss, I see,” Joe responded.

A few minutes later, she returned to the car with an update.

“Everything okay?” Joe asked, noticing her expression.

“Yeah, actually. A lot of messages left on my desk. Looks like the Castellano deposition got moved to Tuesday.”

“Well, that’s good news. Means we didn’t have to kill ourselves getting back.”

“Joe, we’re literally driving fourteen hours because of that deposition AND your court appearances.”

“Yeah, but now we don’t have to stress about some of it. Silver lining, Radcliffe.”

Catherine shook her head, but she was smiling. “You’re impossible.”

“I prefer ‘optimistic,'”Joe replied.

The final leg of the journey was uneventful, which felt like a minor miracle after everything else. They hit some traffic around the George Washington Bridge, but nothing too terrible. As the Manhattan skyline came into view, Catherine felt a familiar sense of homecoming.

“There she is,” Joe said, sounding almost reverent. “The greatest city in the world.”

“You say that every time we come back from somewhere.”

“Because it’s true every time.”

Joe dropped Catherine off at her brownstone just as the sun was setting, bathing the city in golden light.

“Thanks for the ride, Joe,” Catherine said, grabbing her bag from the trunk. “And for the adventure.”

“Anytime, Radcliffe. See you Monday?”

“Bright and early.”

As Joe drove away, Catherine stood on the sidewalk for a moment, breathing in the familiar smells of the city – exhaust and that indefinable New York scent that meant home. She unlocked the door and stepped inside, her heart already racing with anticipation.

“Vincent?” she called softly, setting down her bag.

She heard him before she saw him – the familiar sound of his footsteps, and then he was there, emerging from the shadows of the hallway. His leonine features were illuminated by the fading light through the window, his blue eyes filled with such relief and love that it took her breath away.

“Catherine.” Her name was a prayer on his lips.

She crossed the distance between them in three quick steps, and then she was in his arms, feeling the solid warmth of him, the strength that had always made her feel safe. His cloak enveloped them both as he held her close, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other wrapped firmly around her waist.

“I missed you,” she whispered against his chest, breathing in his familiar scent – candle wax and old books and something uniquely him.

“I felt your absence,” he murmured into her hair, his voice rough with emotion. “Every moment. Through our bond, I knew you were safe, but –”

“But it’s not the same as being together,” she finished, pulling back just enough to look up at him.

His hand came up to cup her face, his thumb gently tracing her cheekbone. “No. It’s not the same.”

Catherine reached up, covering his hand with hers, turning her face to press a kiss to his palm. “I’m home now. I’m here.”

“You’re here,” he echoed, and the wonder in his voice made her heart ache.

She rose on her toes and kissed him, soft and sweet, a promise and a homecoming all at once. When they parted, she rested her forehead against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek.

“I love you,” she said simply. “No matter where I go, no matter how far – I will always come home to you.”

Vincent’s arms tightened around her. “And I will always be here, waiting. Today, tomorrow, always.”

“Come,” Vincent said finally, his voice warm with affection. “You must be exhausted. Let me take care of you.”

Catherine stepped back slightly, a playful smile crossing her face. She reached into her carry-on bag and pulled out the bright yellow t-shirt, holding it up so Vincent could see the cartoon cheeseburger emblazoned across the front.

“I brought you a souvenir from Chicago,” she said, her eyes twinkling with amusement at his bemused expression. “Chicago’s Famous Cheezborger. I thought of you when I saw it.”

Vincent took the shirt, examining it with a mixture of confusion and affection. “Catherine, this is… I’m not entirely sure what to make of this.”

“Well,” Catherine said, stepping closer to him, her voice dropping to something lower, more intimate, “you could put it on for me. And then later…” She reached up and traced a finger along his jaw, her gaze holding his. “…you could take it off for me.”

Vincent’s breath caught, and a slow smile spread across his face. He tossed the t-shirt aside and pulled her back into his arms, his lips finding hers in a kiss that was anything but gentle.

“I love you,” he murmured against her mouth. “Cheezborger and all.”

Catherine laughed, the sound bright and full of joy, as she melted into his embrace.

Vincent smiled, “Milady. I am at your…service.”