Page 69 of Feel Me

He’ll get over it. I meant what I said. Tess is the one for the job.

“We’ll see you later,” Tess says to me. She gathers the file in front of her and Curran grabs the rest. They walk out with Curran’s arm resting against the small of her back, exactly how I used to hold Melissa.

“Mel, wait,” I say when she tries to follow them out.

For a moment, she stares at the closed door. I don’t think she’ll turn around, but then she does. “Tess will do right by those children.”

It’s not what I’m asking, but I think my face gives enough away.

I pull my chair back and take a seat. “How are you?”

“I’m okay,” she replies.

God I hate this small-talk bullshit. It’s all we’ve had lately. When neither of us says anything more, I’m sure she’ll walk out.

She surprises me by taking a seat in front of me. “Is there a case you need to discuss? Some business you want me to handle?”

In other words, don’t make this about us. It’s hard not to. “How’s your dad?”

“Okay. A little better now that he’s off chemo.”

“When does he start the next round?”

She sighs like she doesn’t want to think about it. “Next month. He, um, told me you stopped by on Christmas, on your way to see your family. Thank you for visiting. It means a lot to him.”

“It’s my pleasure. He’s a good man.”

“Yes, he is,” she answers quietly.

I reach into my desk. “I have something for you,” I say.

Her eyes round when I place a velvet jewelry box on my desk and slide it closer to her.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she says.

“Yes, I did. You work your ass off, you keep late hours, and you never say no to anyone.”

Her attention stays on the box. “Most people who work here do the same.”

“They don’t mean what you mean to me,” I tell her, my voice gruff.

Her lids squeeze shut. She’s hurt, but she’s not the only one in pain. “Declan,” she says, her voice splintering.

“Just open it,” I tell her.

She hesitates briefly, moving slowly, her fingers spreading wide to lift the lid. A soft smile forms across her lips as she removes the long silver necklace, the locket at the end swinging like a pendulum beneath her hands.

“It’s beautiful,” she says. She tilts her head when she realizes what it is, her fingers trembling as she pries it open.

Her breath catches, her voice quivering as she takes in the picture of her and her father. “Are you trying to make me cry?”

“Your dad said it was your first ballet recital. You were almost eight, but you refused to have your picture taken without him.”

In the photo, she’s sitting on his lap, holding a little wand as she leans against him. I think she was supposed to be a fairy princess or something, but that’s not what she remembers.

“I was terrible,” she says. “I couldn’t hear the music and struggled to keep up.”

Shit. This was supposed to make her happy, not tear her up. “Your Dad told me you were the best one.”

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