“So,” Ivan said as they settled into the backseat of the taxi, “my place or yours?”

“Flip the coin.” Harper did not want to think about anything; she had to forget about her past, even if it was just for a day.

“You're leaving this to chance?”

“Isn’t the answer already set?” Harper shrugged. “Heads, your place. Tails, mine.”

Ivan pulled his silver coin out of his pocket to toss it up, then stopped.

“Here, you toss this one.”

Harper caught it as he threw it to her. “Huh?”

As the memory of their previous flip crashed back, they froze for a moment.

Harper tried balancing Vernon’s coin while her fingers were tracing the familiar edges. Finally, she flicked it into the air. 

The coin soared up when Ivan's hand shot out, snatching it from the air before it could fall.

“Hey, you both! Have you decided where to go?” The taxi driver seemed annoyed by their actions. 

“If you don't mind,” Ivan said, looking slightly embarrassed. “I need to check on someone.”

“Someone?” Harper raised an eyebrow. “Please tell me you don't have a girlfriend stashed away who's going to find this whole situation wildly inappropriate.”

“You'll see.”

“You think that mysteries are a good choice for me right now?” 

“Nothing quite so dramatic.”

Ivan gave the driver his address and leaned back. 

“I should warn you, my place isn't exactly... entertaining. I wasn't planning on having houseguests.”

“After being poked and prodded, 'not entertaining' sounds like a way to paradise.”

When they arrived, Harper followed him through a security door and into an elevator that still had the original freight elevator gates. “Very atmospheric,” she commented.

“Just a regular apartment. Sorry to disappoint.”

“I don't know. Very ‘criminal turned respectable.’”

Ivan shot her a look. “Should I be concerned about your taste in men?”

“Probably. But we'll add it to the list of things to discuss in therapy.”

Massive windows that flooded the room with natural light, and an open floor plan that somehow managed to feel both spacious and cozy.

A soft whining sound came from somewhere in the apartment. Next came the clicks of claws on hardwood.

Harper raised an eyebrow as a medium-sized black Labrador appeared from what must have been the bedroom, tail wagging tentatively as it approached them.

“Someone?” Harper breathed out, smiling and reaching out to pet the dog. "You have a dog? This is your big secret?”

“This is Charlie,” Ivan said. The dog went to him, poking his face into his legs. "He's a little shy with new people."

“Wow,” she said. “This is not what I expected.”

“And?”

“He's beautiful,” Harper said as Charlie sniffed her hand and then, apparently deciding she was acceptable. “And you're not shy at all, are you, Charlie?”

“You were embarrassed about a dog?” Charlie sniffed her hand. “What did you think I was going to do, report you to the pet police?”

“Make yourself comfortable,” Ivan said, more relaxed. “Can I get you something? No coffee? Water? I think I have some tea somewhere.”

“Tea sounds good. Something soothing and non-medical.” 

Ivan watched Harper scratching behind Charlie's ears, the dog began to squeak with pleasure and wag its tail.

“That's pretty rare. He usually hides when strangers come over.”

“Maybe he has good instincts about people who need a friend,” Harper said, continuing to pet Charlie. “Don't you, boy?”

“Yeah, maybe he does.” 

Harper sank onto the sofa with Charlie claiming the spot next to her while Ivan moved to the kitchen. She could hear him opening cabinets and the sound of a kettle starting to boil.

“So,” she called out, “how long have you had Charlie?” The Labrador was now fully relaxed at her side.

“About eight months.”

Ivan returned with two mugs. He handed one to Harper and headed to the opposite end of the sofa. Charlie immediately moved himself to lie between the two humans.

Harper wrapped her hands around the warm mug, inhaling the rich aroma. “What is it?”

“Earl Grey with bergamot. I may not have a lot here, but I believe I do things right.”

“Having standards?”

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, and Harper found herself studying Ivan's profile as he looked out the windows. In the natural light of his apartment, away from the harsh fluorescents of the hospital, he looked more relaxed. Younger, somehow.

“Can I ask you something?” Harper said finally.

“Shoot.”

“How did you find me on that bridge?” She paused, scratching Charlie's head absently. “I mean, what are the odds? It's not exactly on the way anywhere.”

Ivan was quiet for a long moment, turning his mug in his hands. “Honest answer?”

“Please.”

He looked at her directly. “I went to the office that evening. You'd left everything. Your phone, your coat. The office was a mess.”

“...”

He shook his head. “It didn't fit you.”

“So you decided to go hunting for me?”

“Clara mentioned you’ve been needing air, and about the river. It seemed like you were…” He trailed off.

“I was?..”

“Having too much.”

Harper went quiet, absorbing his words. “You've been watching me more closely than I realized. So you drove to the bridge on a hunch?”

“More like a desperate hope that I was wrong.” He paused. “When I saw you there, gripping that railing…”

He looked at her directly. “I kept thinking about what might have happened. And then when I saw you in that hospital bed… I needed to make sure you were okay.”

Harper felt a warmth that had nothing to do with her tea. “That's either very sweet or slightly stalkerish.”

Ivan laughed.

“But you barely knew me. Why did you care?”

Ivan was reaching over to pet Charlie. “I don't know,” he said finally. “I just did.”

“Ivan?” 

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

Another moment of silence settled between them. Ivan’s gaze was full of concern, while Harper found herself relieved. The apartment felt removed from all the chaos and drama of the past twenty-four hours.

“I know how this looks,” she said softly, “but I swear I wasn't trying to…”

Ivan studied her face carefully. “What happened yesterday… Do you want to talk about it?”

Harper considered this. Part of her wanted to deflect, to make a joke or change the subject. This space made her feel like she could try to be honest with herself.

“I was angry. At myself, and at everything else.” She stopped.

“I felt like I was suffocating in other people's expectations and my failures." She paused. "I wasn't thinking clearly."

“And now?”

“Now I'm thinking maybe I have a detox escape today.” 

She gestured between them. “I mean, I'm currently under protective custody. Furthermore, with a man who owns a secret dog.” 

Ivan laughed. “If you put it like that.”

“Charlie seems to approve, and he's the smartest one here.”

Buzz. Vibration came from the coffee table, its sound cut their moment of comfort. Ivan glanced at the phone, and Harper watched his expression increasing tense in an instant.

“Everything okay?” she asked, noting him tightening as he read whatever message on the screen.

Ivan’s thumb was hovering over the phone. When he looked up, there was a distance that hadn't been there moments before.

“I need to ask you something,” he said carefully, setting his mug down. “And I need you to be honest with me.”

“All right…” Harper felt Charlie leaning his head to her, as if sensing the atmosphere shifting. “What is it about?”

Ivan stood up abruptly. “I need you to think carefully. In the weeks before this night, did you notice anyone... following you?”

“Weeks?” Harper's voice dropped slightly. 

“Did you?” His voice was sharp now.

Harper thought back, her mind racing, and she shook her head.

Buzz. Ivan looked at the caller ID and moved toward his bedroom.

“I have to take this,” his voice became calmer. “Don't go anywhere.”

“Wait...”

The bedroom door closed behind him firmly. Harper could only hear the murmur of his voice through the walls, but couldn't make out any words. 

Charlie whined softly sensing her distress, she patted his head avoiding bad thoughts. She failed in it. Harper sank back onto the couch. 

Someone had been watching her? Following her? “For weeks?” However, she had only been back here for less than a week.

And Ivan... how did Ivan know about this?

The murmur of his voice from the bedroom continued, and Harper found herself straining to hear. 

When Ivan finally emerged from the bedroom, his face was carefully composed, but Harper could see the tension in his shoulders.

“How did it go?” she asked, though she could already tell it wasn't.

“Harper,” Ivan started slowly. “I think it might be better if you went home tonight after all.”

“What?” Harper felt like she'd been slapped.

Charlie looked confused by the sudden tension, pressed his ears to the head.

Now Ivan was throwing her out. She felt like she might be sick.

“So that's it?” she said, standing up.