Frank looked back at the lawn. The picnic blankets. The families. “Page, you know when people go through shit like that, they change, huh? They ain’t the same. You know that.”
She sighed. “Yeah, well, we also lost all our clients because Matt was barely showing up to depositions, let alone court, and then we had to shutter the firm. So I’m out of a job. And I got offered a great position in San Francisco. Satellite office of this really fancy LA-based firm, GLK&H, they’ve started branching out into vigilante law and, uh, superhero stuff, legal defense for various…”
He barely heard the rest of it. San Francisco? As in, California? As in the other side of the goddamn country? “You— you’re goin’ to California?” he croaked, barely able to mask his shock.
“Yeah, my stuff’s already mostly packed. Flight leaves in three days.”
“Jesus, Page. When you said you were leavin’ New York and goin’ somewhere else I thought you meant—Jersey City. Yonkers. Back to Vermont, maybe. Not the other side of the goddamn continent. What—” His head reeled. You’re really leavin’ all of it. You’re leavin’ me.
Frank had been watching them the whole time. Had seen her and Matt. Had probably seen most of everything. She didn’t know why she liked that idea so much. “Yes. It was. And I guess we have you to thank, because you’re the one who shoved us back together, so. Much appreciated, Castle.”
“Don’t play that shit with me, Karen,” he said, dark and low, shoving off the stool and making straight for her with all the unstoppable force of a semi-truck. She did not move: she let him crowd her up against the table in her foyer, shoulders against the wall, nose almost touching his as he breathed in, exhaled warm beer-scented air down her neck. “Throwing that in my face,” he whispered, so close, so hot. Both his hands were planted on the wall behind her, flat and trembling, his fingers working in frantic little tap-tap-taps against the drywall. “Like I didn’t— like I—”
She had her palms down flat on her table, the edge of it biting softly into the backs of her thighs. “Frank,” she whispered. Her bare feet slid apart on the slick linoleum, bracketing his boots. “You better take your shoes off if you’re gonna come into my apartment and drink all my beer.”
