Chapter 9 - An Ordinary Man at the Bus Station
On the morning Dominic came home, Hannah burned twelve orange rolls.
June surveyed the tray.
“Well.”
“I’m distracted.”
“Clearly. The pastries have entered another geological era.”
Hannah threw a towel at her.
Her father was doing well enough to complain about the assisted living facility’s new pudding supplier. Second Rise had six employees, a steady wholesale account, and a roof fund Hannah protected like a national treasure.
She was thirty-seven now.
She knew more about herself.
What frightened her.
What she could survive.
What she wanted without needing it to rescue her.
Dominic was being released under conditions his attorney had explained carefully.
He had a modest place to live and work arranged through an approved employer.
He would not return to the old organization.
There was no old organization waiting in the shape he had known.
Adrian was serving a substantial sentence following the resolution of his case.
Scott had been convicted.
Leonard Voss was alive, working elsewhere, and occasionally sent June holiday cards.
The world had continued.
That felt important.
Hannah drove to the bus station in her own car.
It was not new.
It started reliably.
She considered that luxury.
Dominic stepped onto the pavement carrying one bag.
For several seconds, she barely recognized him.
No overcoat worth more than her rent.
No armored vehicle.
No men arranging the space around him.
Just a man in a plain jacket looking uncertain beneath an ugly fluorescent light.
Then he saw her.
He stopped.
Hannah walked toward him.
“You took longer than the app predicted.”
His mouth moved before any sound came.
“You came.”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“I’m aware. You’ve had several years to learn I dislike unnecessary instructions.”
He smiled.
She reached him.
For a moment, they simply stood there.
Then he asked, “Can I hug you?”
Hannah’s eyes filled.
“Yes, Dominic.”
His arms closed around her carefully.
She held on harder.
He smelled of soap and cold air.
Nothing about it resembled the mansion.
She was grateful.
At her car, he paused beside the passenger door.
She raised an eyebrow.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re assessing the security.”
“No.”
“Liar.”
He looked at the dent above the wheel.
“Possibly the suspension.”
“Get in.”
He did.
For the first mile, they said very little.
Then Hannah pulled into a coffee shop.
“I have work this afternoon,” she said.
“Of course.”
“And you have appointments.”
“Yes.”
“I’m not taking you home with me.”
He nodded.
“I didn’t expect you to.”
She looked across the table.
“I want us to date.”
The word felt almost ridiculous after years of letters, courtrooms, and waiting rooms.
Dominic stared.
“Date?”
“Dinner. Walks. Arguments about where to eat.”
“I think I remember.”
“You don’t get to be mysterious. It’s exhausting.”
A laugh escaped him.
“I’ll try.”
“You get to be nervous.”
“I am.”
“Good. Me too.”
They had coffee.
They talked about ordinary things.
The bakery’s freezer.
His new job.
Her father’s terrible opinion of modern television.
When she drove him to his apartment, he stood on the sidewalk holding his bag.
“Thank you.”
“For the ride?”
“For letting it be this.”
Hannah rested one hand on the steering wheel.
This.
A beginning with no empire behind it.
No debt.
No obligation disguised as destiny.
“You can call tomorrow,” she said.
“I will.”
“And Dominic?”
“Yes?”
“Ask how my day went before trying to solve it.”
He nodded.
The next evening, he called at seven.
May you like
He asked.
Then he listened.
