Chapter 13 - HE CAME BACK WITH NO BODYGUARDS
Declan arrived at Saint Catherine carrying grocery-store flowers.
Not roses.
Daisies.
Maeve liked daisies.
Norah hated that he remembered.
He looked leaner.
Older.
Quieter.
No tailored armor.
No entourage.
“You’re late,” Maeve said.
Declan checked his watch.
“Four minutes.”
“Unacceptable.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Norah folded her arms.
“Careful. She’ll put you on probation.”
“I’m already familiar with supervision.”
Maeve laughed.
Then immediately forgot why.
Declan’s face softened.
He did not show pity.
Norah noticed.
After the visit, they walked along the lake.
“What now?” she asked.
“I have a job.”
She stopped.
“You?”
“Yes.”
“Doing what?”
“Compliance operations for a regional freight cooperative.”
Norah stared.
“Someone hired you?”
“They enjoy redemption stories.”
“I hate redemption stories.”
“So do I.”
He kicked a pebble.
“They mainly hired me because I know every way logistics companies cheat.”
Useful.
“Any ownership?”
“No.”
“Cash businesses?”
“No.”
“Men named Knuckles?”
“Not yet.”
She smiled.
Then Declan became serious.
“I don’t expect anything from you.”
“I know.”
“I wanted to say that before…”
“Before what?”
“Before I ask you to dinner.”
Norah laughed.
“You rehearsed that.”
“Extensively.”
“Dinner.”
“One.”
“No private dining rooms.”
“Fine.”
“No car sent for me.”
“Cruel.”
“Declan.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
Their first date was at a small Italian restaurant where nobody whispered when he walked in.
Declan looked uncomfortable.
Norah enjoyed that immensely.
They talked about ordinary things.
Books.
Maeve.
His terrible cooking.
Her hatred of jazz.
Nothing about blood until dessert.
Then Norah asked:
“Do you miss power?”
“Yes.”
She appreciated that.
“What part?”
“Knowing people would do what I said.”
“That sounds unhealthy.”
“It was.”
“And now?”
“Now people often say no.”
“How tragic.”
“Constant humiliation.”
She laughed.
Months passed.
Dinner became coffee.
Coffee became weekends.
Not every week.
Not every day.
Slow.
Declan stayed in therapy.
Norah did too.
Trust did not return in a cinematic montage.
It came through repeated boring evidence.
He asked before coming over.
He did not solve problems she had not given him.
He never contacted Maeve’s doctors without permission.
Once, Norah complained about a landlord issue.
Declan listened.
Did nothing.
Two days later she asked:
“You didn’t call him?”
“You didn’t ask me to.”
She kissed him for the first time that night.
Years after the elevator.
Not because he protected her.
Because he finally understood when not to.
Then Priya called with news.
Daniel Bennett’s restitution case had recovered enough money to create an independent worker-protection foundation.
The board wanted Norah as chair.
She accepted.
One condition:
No Gallagher name.
Declan smiled when she told him.
“Correct decision.”
Then he handed her something.
The old brass key from Locker 417.
“What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Whatever you want.”
Norah turned it between her fingers.
For years, keys in her life had opened secrets.
This one no longer opened anything.
The locker was gone.
The case closed.
She dropped it into Lake Michigan.
Declan stared.
“That was evidence once.”
“Now it’s litter.”
“You’ve become reckless.”
“Spend time with criminals.”
He smiled.
Then, very carefully, he asked:
“Can I hold your hand?”
Norah looked at him.
“You are unbelievably strange.”
May you like
“That isn’t a no.”
She gave him her hand.
