The fact that she was here, fuck, it had to mean something. I’d wanted to call her today, to find her, to make sure she was OK, but I’d figured she wouldn’t have answered. When the call had come through from Barry and Greg, asking me to join them for Christmas Eve dinner at the Chestnut, I’d had nothing better to do to take my mind off her.

And now, this.

“Erika,” I repeated.

She finally dropped her knife and fork, the cutlery clattering against the fine china, drawing a wince from a nearby waiter. “Stalking me again?” Erika asked, meeting my gaze.

Fuck. She was gorgeous. Her hair loose around her shoulders, her eyes done up so that they were shadowy gray, more pronounced. Her lips were fire-truck red, and she wore that same red dress she’d chosen for our night out, what felt like years ago rather than a week. Her handbag was strung over the back of her chair, her coat nowhere in sight.

“You’re staring,” her friend remarked. Luna. She was here. That was good. Did that mean their apartment really was done? That they could move in again and Erika would be safe?

“We need to talk,” I said.

“No, we really don’t. I told you I don’t want to see you again, Noah, and I expected you to respect that.”

“I can’t help we’re at the same fucking restaurant.” It came out in a low growl. “And now that we’re here, I realize that not seeing each other again is out of the question. There are things you don’t understand.”

“I understand you stalked me.”

“I didn’t fucking stalk you,” I grunted. “I did what I had to do to make sure you were safe. None of what happened was driven out of anything other than wanting what was best for you.”

“Are you her dad?” Luna asked, quirking a perfectly plucked eyebrow at me. “Quit acting like her dad.”

I brushed aside the comment by turning my back to her. “Erika, you have no idea what you’re doing. I can’t let you give up on St. Katherine’s just because of what I did. If you want me to leave the hospital, I will. I’ll find something else.”

“And how will that look to the board?” Erika asked. “And your brother?” That last sentence came out too sweetly. “Noah, there’s no use crying over spilt milk. I’m going to leave St. Katherine’s, and likely New York, and you’ll be able to get back to what you do best. Manipulating people. Pretending to feel things you don’t.” She shrugged. “That’s all there is to it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to enjoy my Christmas Eve dinner with my friend in peace.” Erika lifted her champagne glass and drained it, then set it down again.

A waiter nearby twitched forward to collect it, but I stunned him with a glare, then turned it on her. “You mistake me for giving a shit about your dinner.”

“You mistake me for mistaking you. I know you don’t give a shit about anyone but yourself, Noah.”

Fuck, of course she thought that. “Must be why I put my neck on the line to ensure the hospital hired you and no one else for the opening.”

“Oh, I’m so flattered.” She batted her eyelashes at me. “Thank you, master.”

“Fuck, Erika, you’re starting to piss me off.”

“Starting? Good, because you’ve already ruined my night. No, my Christmas.”

Our voices were already raised, and they would only get louder if I didn’t get her out of this restaurant and somewhere private to talk this out. No matter how much I wanted to believe I didn’t need her around, that I was fucking A-OK without her, I couldn’t make it true. Christ, I’d spent this whole afternoon thinking of nothing but her.

That had literally never happened to me before with anyone.

“I’m not leaving this table until you get up and talk to me about this. We need to discuss this. You need to understand that I wasn’t doing any of this to upset you or hurt you, but to help you. I just wanted—”

“How am I supposed to believe that, Noah?” she asked. “How am I supposed to believe that you wanted to do right by me when all the evidence I have points to the exact opposite? How stupid do you think I am?”

“Not stupid at all,” I replied. “Just stubborn. But you are kind, and you do give second chances, Erika. So give me one now. I’ve never asked to explain myself in the history of my fucking existence, but I’m asking you now.”

“Second chances?” she whispered. “I’ve given you more than two chances, Noah, and you know it. You fucking know—” she shifted her gaze past me, and cut off, eyes widening. All the color drained from her face, and I turned to find the source of whatever had upset her.

Two figures approached: a man, a tall, handsome blond, with his arm around the waist of a woman who was heavily pregnant and bedecked in enough jewelry to make the Queen jealous.

“Oh no,” Luna whispered.

I looked over at her. “Oh no, what?”

“That’s Jason,” she replied.