The walnut chair was having a very bad afternoon. It stood in the middle of a woodworking shop, leaning drunkenly to one side beneath the disapproving gaze of a woman with copper-auburn hair, rolled-up flannel sleeves, and the expression of someone contemplating a perfectly justifiable felony. "Patience, persuasion, or a small controlled fire," the woman muttered.

Natalie Sinclair, standing just inside the workshop, considered the offending piece of furniture. "I think we both know a small controlled fire is the answer to ninety percent of life's problems."

The woman looked up. Gray-blue eyes met brown, and a slow, amused smile appeared beneath a constellation of faint freckles. "Natalie, right?"

"That's me."

"Sloane Mercer." She removed her work gloves. "Excellent timing. I was just about to commit a crime against furniture."

"Luckily for you, I work with computers, not arson investigations."

"Comforting."

"Most days, anyway."

Sloane laughed. "Before we go any further, you should know I appreciate honesty, clever arguments, and people who can laugh at themselves. Flirting is negotiable. Sarcasm isn't."

Natalie dropped into an empty chair, stretching her legs comfortably. "Well, I'm always available for sarcasm. Flirting depends entirely on the quality of your arguments."

"High standards?"

"Extremely."

Sloane gestured toward the condemned chair. "This obstinate bastard refuses to accept its proper shape. Mid-century walnut. I'm debating whether to steam-bend it into submission or leave it alone as a metaphor for my exes."

Natalie leaned forward to inspect the joinery. "Careful. It might start demanding half your tools in the settlement."

Sloane burst out laughing. "That would be an expensive divorce."

"Honestly, I'd let it be a little weird. Character is better than perfection."

"Spoken like someone who isn't getting paid to make it stand straight."

"Fair point."

Natalie looked around the workshop. It smelled of sawdust, wood oil, and old varnish. Hand tools hung in orderly rows above a long workbench. Clamps occupied an entire wall, their metal jaws standing at attention like soldiers awaiting orders. Half-finished projects filled the remaining space. A dining table with gorgeous grain sat beneath a dust sheet. Cabinet doors rested against the wall, and an ancient radio had been partially disassembled on a nearby bench. It was organized chaos. Natalie liked it immediately.

"So," Sloane asked, leaning against the bench, "what does a computer person do when she isn't rescuing furniture from my questionable judgment?"

"Mostly coding, gaming, carpentry, and trying to stop my dog from judging me."

"Your dog judges you?"

"Constantly. It's humiliating."

"Sounds like management material."

Natalie grinned. "I'm building a PDF reader right now. Dark-themed, because my eyes absolutely hate bright screens. Unfortunately, making a PDF look decent in dark mode without destroying the images is apparently an insult to the entire software industry."

Sloane's interest sharpened. "You're trying to invert the colors while preserving embedded images?"

"Exactly! Sometimes an image is an image, and sometimes it's a drawing inside a stream inside a form, wrapped in a riddle and buried beneath three layers of compression."

Sloane nodded thoughtfully. "Have you tried examining the bounding boxes and clipping paths instead of attacking the entire content stream? Treat it like a structural integrity problem. Find the actual boundaries before deciding what needs changing."

Natalie stopped. She stared at Sloane. "What?"

"That might actually work."

"Careful. Compliments go straight to my head."

Natalie pulled out her phone and quickly made a note. "Seriously. I've been so deep in the code that I forgot to look at the scaffolding."

"Occupational hazard. I do the same thing with structural models."

"Well, congratulations. You may have just saved my laptop from an unscheduled flight through a window."

"Windows are expensive. Happy to help."

Sloane picked up a sanding block, studying Natalie with renewed curiosity. "So what's the dog's name?"

"Juniper. Juni, usually."

"And what breed is our judgmental supervisor?"

"Staffordshire Terrier and American Bully mix."

Sloane laughed. "Of course. A toddler in a leather jacket."

"Exactly! She's an absolute sweetheart, but she's got this stare that cuts straight through my bullshit. If I'm stuck on a programming problem, she'll sigh at me and put her chin on my arm until I stop typing."

"Emotional hostage negotiation."

"With cheese as the preferred currency."

"A sophisticated criminal."

"Very."

Their shared laughter settled into a comfortable silence. Natalie found herself studying Sloane. She was attractive, certainly. The copper waves framing her face and those striking gray-blue eyes had already made a compelling argument. But there was something else. Sloane was intelligent without being condescending, sarcastic without being cruel, and clearly passionate about the things she built. Natalie had met plenty of beautiful women. Beautiful women who could discuss software architecture and furniture joinery while threatening their projects with arson were considerably rarer.

"So," Sloane continued, "when you're not negotiating with terrorists or debugging PDF purgatory, do you actually get out into the world?"

Natalie shrugged. "Not much. Work, groceries, appointments. Otherwise I'm home working on something."

"Not a fan of peopling?"

"Peopling sucks."

Sloane considered that. "Can't argue with the assessment. Half the time I'd rather wrestle fifty-year-old walnut than make small talk."

"See? You understand."

"But surely there's something that could lure you out of your hobbit hole."

Natalie tilted her head. "For the right person? Absolutely."

Sloane's expression shifted. Not dramatically. Just the slightest lift of one eyebrow and the beginning of a smile that suggested she'd heard precisely what Natalie intended. "So I'm on a quest now?"

"Possibly."

"What's the toll? Coffee? Dinner? Expensive cheese?"

"I don't drink coffee."

"Tragic."

"But show me a thrift store with actual interesting furniture instead of dusty polyester and ceramic frogs, and I'm halfway there."

Sloane straightened. "Well, that I can do."

"Really?"

"There's a place downtown. Second Chances. They collect Danish teak like it's a competitive sport."

Natalie narrowed her eyes. "Actual solid wood?"

"Mostly."

"Not particle board?"

Sloane looked offended. "Please. Particle board is the devil's confetti."

Natalie burst out laughing. "And MDF?" Sloane continued. "Structural depression held together by hope and glue."

"Marry me."

Sloane laughed. "Find me a decent piece of walnut that isn't priced like a kidney, and we'll discuss it."

Natalie stood. "Well, come on, then. Let's go find some wood."

Sloane grabbed her keys. "You're awfully enthusiastic about wood, Sinclair."

Natalie flashed her an innocent smile. "Good wood is hard to find."

Sloane shook her head. "Something tells me you're going to be trouble."

"You have no idea."

---

Natalie discovered two things about Sloane Mercer during the drive downtown. First, she possessed an impressive vocabulary of creative insults for other people's driving. Second, she apparently believed every compact SUV ever manufactured was a station wagon. "So what do you drive?" Sloane asked as they approached a red light.

"Toyota bZ4X."

"Right. An electric station wagon."

"It is NOT a station wagon!"

"Does it have wheels?"

"Obviously."

"Does it carry groceries?"

"Sloane!"

"Sounds suspicious."

Natalie folded her arms. "At least mine doesn't cost four dollars a gallon to feed."

Sloane glanced over. "You're one of those smug electric-car people."

"Absolutely. She practically runs on sunshine."

"You're driving a glorified leaf with wheels."

Natalie laughed so hard she nearly snorted. By the time they reached Second Chances, she'd decided Sloane was either the most entertaining woman she'd met in years or a carefully disguised menace. Possibly both. Sloane parked her truck and climbed out. "Come on, Ranger. Let's see if you've actually got an eye for furniture."

Natalie remained seated. Sloane glanced through the window. Natalie looked at her. Then at the closed passenger door. Then back at her. A slow smile spread across Sloane's face. "Oh, I see how it is."

Natalie widened her eyes innocently. "See what?"

"You're waiting for me to open your door."

Natalie said nothing. Sloane approached, opened the passenger door with an exaggerated flourish, and gestured toward the sidewalk. "Your kingdom awaits, Your Highness."

Natalie turned in her seat. And waited. Sloane stared at her. "Seriously?"

Natalie held out her hand. Sloane laughed in disbelief before offering her own. "You're pushing your luck today."

Natalie accepted the assistance, stepping down from the truck with a delighted giggle. "Thank you!"

"Don't get used to the red-carpet treatment, Princess."

Natalie's smile widened. Princess. Well. That was interesting. Inside, Second Chances smelled exactly as Sloane had promised: old varnish, lavender, and regret. The aisles formed a winding maze through decades of discarded domestic ambition. There were lamps that should have been destroyed during the Carter administration, enough decorative geese to establish a small dictatorship, and several pieces of furniture that appeared to be held upright by prayer. Sloane stopped beside a particularly unfortunate cabinet.

"Laminate."

Natalie recoiled. "Absolutely not."

"Good girl. You're learning."

Natalie shot her a look. "Careful, Mercer. Compliments might go straight to my head."

They wandered deeper into the shop, stopping occasionally to inspect joints, argue over finishes, or express mutual horror at crimes committed against perfectly innocent wood. Natalie was searching for something practical to hold her gaming equipment. She wanted clean, modern lines and enough interior space to hide the mess of cables that seemed to reproduce behind every electronic device she owned. Sloane was hunting for a side table for a client. Neither seemed particularly interested in finding the exit. They passed a collection of questionable lamps, a cabinet with a horrifying orange finish, and a chair that appeared to be violating several laws of physics.

Then Natalie spotted something promising. A low, wide chest stood against the wall, its dark wood softened by age. It had tapered legs, clean lines, and the unmistakable proportions of mid-century design. Natalie crouched beside it. "Well, hello, gorgeous."

Sloane looked down at her. "Should I give you two a moment?"

"Possibly."

Natalie pulled open a drawer. Solid construction. Decent joints. Original hardware that could easily be replaced. "What do you think?"

Sloane crouched beside her, examining the wood grain. "Could be walnut. Might be ash with a convincing stain. Hard to tell without getting a better look beneath the finish."

"Either way, it's solid."

"Looks that way."

Natalie ran her fingertips along the edge. "Some sanding, fresh finish, new hardware. This could be beautiful."

Sloane tilted her head. "You're willing to put in the work?"

"I have an orbital sander and a complete lack of better judgment."

"Excellent credentials."

"The biggest problem is cable management."

"Easy enough. I can drill a grommet hole in the back."

Natalie looked up. "You have a drill press?"

Sloane gave her a scandalized look. "Honey, please. I have a drill press, a table saw, and enough clamps to start a small cult."

Natalie laughed. "Just checking your equipment."

Sloane's smile turned decidedly less innocent. "Is that what we're calling it?"

Natalie met her gaze. "Maybe."

For a moment, neither woman moved. Then Sloane stood and pulled a tape measure from her back pocket. "Forty-eight inches wide, eighteen deep, thirty-two tall."

Natalie examined the dimensions. "That might fit in my Toyota."

"Your station wagon?"

"SLOANE!"

"Right. The glorified leaf."

Natalie crossed her arms. "Or perhaps I could convince a certain attractive woman with a truck to deliver it for me."

Sloane slowly retracted her tape measure. "You're auditioning for delivery service."

"I'm exploring logistical solutions."

"Of course you are."

"A cheese plate, perhaps?"

Sloane considered the offer. "Triple cream?"

"Naturally."

"Sharp cheddar?"

"Obviously."

"Honeycomb?"

Natalie sighed dramatically. "You're an expensive woman, Mercer."

"And don't you forget it."

Natalie stepped closer. "Unless there's something else you'd like to sweeten the arrangement?"

Sloane's gaze flickered briefly toward her lips. "Careful, Sinclair. You're making some interesting promises."

Natalie smiled. "I did mention being resourceful."

"That you did."

"So?"

Sloane extended her hand. "Deal. Delivery, drilling, and assistance with getting the thing inside. But if I throw my back out, you're paying for massages."

Natalie slipped her hand into Sloane's. "I happen to be very good with my hands."

"Another claim requiring independent verification."

"I'm sure we can arrange an inspection."

Sloane laughed. "Go pay for the dresser before I regain my sanity."

Natalie practically skipped toward the counter. Behind her, Sloane called out, "And don't forget! You still owe me that cheese plate!" Natalie waved her receipt triumphantly. "Don't worry, Mercer! I take my debts seriously!"

The dresser took considerably more effort to load than either woman cared to admit. They maneuvered it through the cramped aisles, narrowly avoiding a stack of lampshades and an unfortunate encounter with a ceramic goose. "Watch the doorway," Sloane instructed.

"My spatial awareness is impeccable!"

"That's what people say immediately before damaging a doorframe."

They managed to reach the truck without casualties. With a coordinated lift and several highly undignified grunts, they eased the chest into the truck bed. Natalie stepped back, breathing heavily. "Well. That was romantic."

Sloane wiped her hands on her jeans. "I noticed you checking out my ass while we lifted."

Natalie didn't hesitate. "Absolutely. One hundred percent. No apologies."

Sloane laughed. "I'd have been disappointed if you weren't."

Natalie placed one hand over her heart. "Such a burden, being appreciated."

"Come on, Your Highness. Let's get lunch before you start eating the upholstery."

---

The restaurant was an old-fashioned burger joint with red booths, battered menus, and the unmistakable smell of onions sizzling on a grill. Sloane assured Natalie that the establishment served excellent burgers and proper ice cream. Natalie remained skeptical about the second claim. "If they serve that chemical sludge masquerading as soft-serve, I'm leaving."

"I have standards, Sinclair."

"Good. So do I."

"And don't even think about ordering strawberry ice cream and expecting me to approve."

Natalie looked offended. "Strawberry is clearly the superior flavor."

"Artificial pink nostalgia."

"Blasphemy."

Their argument continued all the way into the parking lot. Sloane shifted the truck into park and turned off the engine. "Try to keep your berry superiority complex under control until we've ordered, would you?"

Natalie looked at her. Then, without warning, reached across the console, cupped Sloane's face, and kissed her. It was brief, confident, and entirely deliberate. Before Sloane could respond, Natalie released her, unbuckled her seatbelt, and climbed out of the truck. She shut the door behind her. Through the windshield, she caught Sloane staring after her. For once, the woman appeared to have absolutely nothing to say. Natalie smiled to herself. Got you. Sloane recovered quickly. By the time she joined Natalie on the sidewalk, the familiar smirk had returned.

"Well. That's one way to win an argument."

Natalie slipped her arm through Sloane's. "Executive decision."

"I noticed."

"Any objections?"

"Not currently."

"Excellent."

"But it doesn't get you out of the cheese plate."

Natalie laughed. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Inside, they claimed a booth toward the back. Natalie ordered a burger with everything. Sloane wanted hers with mustard and pickles. They compromised on a chocolate shake with two straws. "Three sips," Natalie informed her.

Sloane raised an eyebrow. "Three?"

"That's your allowance."

"You're running dessert like a corporate dictatorship."

"I prefer benevolent monarchy."

"Naturally."

Natalie took a long sip. Sloane watched her over the rim of the glass. "Careful. If you keep looking at me like that, my consulting fees are going to increase."

Natalie lowered the straw. "Consulting fees?"

"Of course. My time isn't cheap."

"I've already promised you gourmet cheese and manual labor. At this rate, I'll need to put you on payroll."

Sloane leaned forward. "I don't think you can afford my hourly rate."

Natalie smiled. "Perhaps we could arrange alternative compensation."

"Interesting."

"I'm very good with my hands."

"Another claim requiring inspection."

"You're awfully fond of inspections."

"I'm a structural engineer. It's practically a moral obligation."

Natalie laughed. Beneath the table, she stretched one foot toward Sloane. A gentle nudge became a slow, deliberate movement along the inside of the other woman's leg. Sloane didn't pull away. Instead, she continued sipping the shake with an expression of infuriating composure. "You're playing a dangerous game under there, Sinclair."

Natalie smiled sweetly. "Am I?"

"Very."

"Whatever could you mean?"

Sloane reached beneath the table and caught Natalie's ankle, stopping her advance. The sudden contact stole a little of Natalie's confidence. Sloane noticed. Of course she noticed. "Careful," she said quietly. "I keep track of my debts. And I collect interest."

Natalie swallowed. "You're beginning to sound like a banker."

Sloane released her ankle and leaned back. "Bankers panic when the markets dip. I understand leverage."

Natalie picked up her water. "Well, I suppose that depends on what kind of leverage we're discussing."

Sloane smiled. "The kind that requires precision, focus, and dexterity."

Natalie nearly choked. Sloane looked delighted. The arrival of their burgers gave Natalie a badly needed opportunity to recover. She took an enormous bite. It was, unfortunately, excellent. "Mmm. Fine. You win. This is good."

"Naturally."

"Almost makes up for those questionable pickles."

Natalie reached across the table and stole one from Sloane's plate. "HEY."

"What?"

"Garnish theft is a federal offense in this jurisdiction."

"Arrest me."

Sloane shook her head. "Don't tempt me."

They continued eating, trading insults and increasingly elaborate threats involving their nonexistent accounting departments. Then Sloane leaned back, surveying Natalie with a thoughtful expression. "You know, you're going to need your strength later."

Natalie looked up. "For the furniture?"

"Among other things."

Sloane's smile was slow and deliberate. "There's still that inspection."

Natalie's cheeks turned crimson. She immediately took another bite of her burger. Sloane's expression brightened. "Oh, now we're shy?"

"I am not shy!"

"Really?"

"I'm strategically recalibrating."

Sloane laughed. "Of course you are."

Natalie reached for the shake, attempting to hide behind it. "Some matters are classified, Mercer. You can't expect me to divulge sensitive information in a public restaurant."

Sloane lowered her voice. "Fair point. That gentleman two booths over looks like he'd sell state secrets for onion rings."

"Exactly."

"Fortunately, I have security clearance."

"Background checks take time."

"I suppose they do."

Sloane leaned forward and stole another sip of the shake. Natalie gasped. "FOUR!"

Sloane sat back. "What?"

"That was your fourth sip! Direct violation of the treaty!"

"Interest on the pickle you stole."

"That's not how international law works!"

"The math is infallible."

Natalie stared at her. Sloane stared back. Then both women dissolved into laughter. It was the kind of laughter Natalie hadn't realized she'd missed. Not polite amusement. Not the obligatory chuckle that made social encounters bearable. Real laughter. The kind that made breathing difficult and left an unfamiliar warmth somewhere beneath her ribs. She looked across the table. Sloane was smiling at her. Not teasing, for once. Just smiling. Natalie felt something shift. Something small. Something she wasn't quite ready to name.

"So," Sloane asked, "what's the next step in this extensive background check of yours?"

Natalie considered her. "Another kiss would be a good start."

Sloane set down her napkin. "Fair enough."

She slid out of the booth, stood, and offered Natalie her hand. Natalie blinked. "Here?"

"Well, the lighting isn't particularly romantic, but I'm a practical woman."

Natalie accepted her hand. Sloane drew her to her feet, resting one hand at her waist. "Come here, then. Let's see if you pass the first round."

Natalie smiled. "Careful, Mercer. I believe you're the one being evaluated."

"Is that so?"

"Absolutely."

Natalie leaned closer, stopping just short of Sloane's lips. "Although I must admit, taking the initiative earns you bonus points."

Sloane's eyes narrowed playfully. "Does it?"

"Quite a few, actually."

"How generous."

Natalie smiled sweetly. "So, are you going to kiss me, or do I need to file a formal request?"

Sloane laughed softly. "I don't do paperwork, Sinclair."

She closed the distance. "I'm a hands-on kind of engineer."

Her kiss was slow at first, then more deliberate, her hand settling securely against Natalie's waist. Natalie's teasing smile disappeared. For several wonderful seconds, so did the rest of the restaurant. When Sloane finally pulled back, she remained close enough that Natalie could still feel her warmth. "How's that for a response?"

Natalie exhaled. "Well..."

"Do I get the stamp of approval?"

Natalie slowly straightened Sloane's collar. "Provisional approval."

Sloane raised an eyebrow. "Provisional?"

"One successful demonstration hardly establishes a consistent performance record."

"You're a demanding woman."

"I have standards."

Sloane caught Natalie's hand and kissed her knuckles. "Provisional. I'll take it."

They returned to their seats. A moment later, Sloane tossed a french fry at Natalie. "Careful, though. Keep requesting demonstrations, and I'll start charging consulting fees."

Natalie retrieved the fry and ate it with exaggerated dignity. "Mercer, between the cheese, the desserts, and the manual labor, your compensation package is getting ridiculous."

Sloane grinned. "Skilled labor costs money."

Natalie leaned forward. "Then I expect skilled results."

"Always."

Sloane finished her shake. "Come on. Let's get that dresser home before your arms give out. I'd hate to have to cite muscle failure on your performance review."

Natalie stood. "You're an insufferable woman."

"And yet you keep asking me to kiss you."

Natalie opened her mouth. Closed it again. Sloane laughed. "That's what I thought."

---

By the time they reached the truck, Natalie had recovered most of her dignity. She stopped beside the passenger door and clasped her hands behind her back. Sloane looked at her. Then at the door. Then back at Natalie. "Oh, we're testing retention rates now?"

Natalie smiled innocently. "Merely conducting a follow-up assessment."

Sloane stepped closer. "I recall you like doors opened for you."

"Very good."

"And that you're a sucker for a woman who knows how to handle a toolbox."

Natalie giggled. Sloane opened the door with a flourish. "Your chariot, Your Highness."

Natalie rewarded her with a kiss on the cheek. "You're learning quickly, Mercer."

"Terrifyingly."

Natalie held out her hand. "And perhaps you'd like to assist your Princess into her chariot?"

Sloane laughed, taking her hand. "You're going to be absolutely spoiled."

"Going to be?"

"Fair point."

Once Natalie was seated, Sloane closed her door and rounded the truck. Natalie leaned across and pulled the driver's handle before Sloane reached it. Sloane climbed in, giving her an amused look. "How gracious."

"I'm a benevolent monarch."

"So you've mentioned."

As they drove, the conversation turned to Juniper. "She's a Staffy," Natalie explained. "Mostly sweetness, enthusiasm, and a complete disregard for personal space."

"Sounds familiar."

Natalie narrowed her eyes. "Are you comparing me to my dog?"

"I would never."

"Mercer."

"Although the cheese-related similarities are difficult to ignore."

Natalie laughed. Sloane glanced over. "So what's the proper protocol? Do I need to wipe my feet, avoid eye contact, or sit for a treat?"

Natalie immediately brightened. "Actually, I rather like that last idea."

Sloane raised an eyebrow. "Oh, you think you're the one holding the leash? That's adorable."

Natalie grinned. "You were the one volunteering to sit."

"I'll sit for a treat. But I expect premium compensation."

"Of course."

"Triple cream?"

"Possibly."

"Honeycomb?"

"Negotiable."

Natalie tilted her head. "Good girl, Mercer. Who's a good girl?"

Sloane laughed. "Careful with that good-girl business, Sinclair. I might start expecting performance reviews."

Natalie smiled. "I prefer hands-on evaluations."

"Do you?"

"Extra credit for confidence, initiative, and knowing exactly when to take charge."

Sloane glanced over. For the briefest moment, something in her expression changed. Not surprise. Recognition. "Better start preparing your defense, Natalie."

Natalie crossed her legs. "Oh, sweetheart, I don't prepare defenses when I'm confident in my performance."

Sloane smiled. "I grade on a curve."

"Well, darling, I certainly hope you know how to appreciate a good one."

Sloane groaned. "You're terrible."

"And yet you're still driving me home."

"Unfortunately, I'm contractually obligated. There's a dresser in the back."

"Naturally."

They were approaching Natalie's street when Sloane signaled for a turn. "Just tell me where to pull in. I'd hate to block the driveway or park in the flowerbed."

Natalie bit her lower lip. An absolutely wicked idea presented itself. "Well, Mercer, I can think of at least two places I'd like you to pull in."

Sloane looked at her. Natalie smiled sweetly. "But let's start with the driveway."

Sloane groaned. "You're going to be the death of me."

"I've been told I'm worth the risk."

"By whom?"

"Extremely reliable sources."

"Your dog?"

"Among others."

Sloane guided the truck into the driveway and parked, positioning the bed toward the garage. "There. Driveway achieved. As for the other location, we'll see if you can convince me."

She shut off the engine. "And parking privileges? Please. I'm the one with the truck and the muscle. You should be worried about my guest-pass policy."

Natalie turned toward her. "Actually, Mercer..."

She unbuckled her seatbelt. "I think Juniper can wait another minute."

Sloane raised an eyebrow. "Natalie?"

Natalie carefully climbed across the console and settled into Sloane's lap, her knees on either side of her hips. "Now, about those guest privileges."

Sloane's hands immediately found Natalie's waist, steadying her. "You're a very determined negotiator."

"I believe you mentioned something about convincing you."

Natalie cupped Sloane's face, brushing a copper curl away from her cheek. Then she kissed her. Slowly. Deliberately. When she finally pulled back, she remained close enough to feel Sloane's amused breath against her lips. "How's that for a persuasive argument?"

Sloane's eyes had darkened. "Compelling."

Natalie smiled. "Only compelling?"

"One good argument might get you in the door, Sinclair. Doesn't guarantee you'll keep the keys."

Natalie laughed softly. "You're awfully confident for a woman who hasn't even earned the keys to my kingdom."

Sloane's grip tightened slightly at her waist. "Perhaps."

Natalie brushed her thumb along Sloane's cheek. "But I have to admit, I rather like your confidence."

"Good."

"Quite a lot, actually."

Sloane studied her. Natalie's teasing expression softened. "So here's my next proposal."

"I'm listening."

"For once, I'm going to stop making all the moves."

Sloane's eyebrow lifted. "Are you?"

Natalie nodded. "Let's see what happens when I let you take the lead, pretty girl."

A silence settled between them. Sloane's expression sharpened. "Careful what you wish for, Natalie. Handing over the reins is a lot of trust for someone who hasn't even seen my tax returns."

Natalie laughed. Then Sloane's hand slid up her back, coming to rest gently at the base of her neck. Natalie's laughter faded. "But if you want to see what I can do with a little room to maneuver..."

Sloane drew her closer. This kiss was different. Unhurried. Confident. She set the pace, keeping Natalie close until the last trace of her clever remarks had vanished. When Sloane finally pulled back, she rested her forehead against Natalie's. "That," she murmured, "is my counterproposal."

Natalie stared at her. Sloane smiled. "I drive the truck. I pick the music. And I decide when we stop to kiss you."

Natalie swallowed. "Well... fuck, Mercer."

Sloane laughed softly. "Something wrong?"

Natalie's cheeks were burning. "I think I'm going to like your management style."

"Good."

Sloane tapped her hip. "Now, unless you want the neighbors to get a show, I suggest we go greet the dog before I lose my professional composure entirely."

Natalie reluctantly climbed back into the passenger seat. "Yes, ma'am."

She paused. "But Juniper gets final approval of your music selections."

Sloane laughed. "If she doesn't like the Stones, she can file a complaint in writing."

---

Juniper announced her arrival with the unmistakable sound of claws scrambling enthusiastically across hardwood. By the time Natalie opened the front door, the dog had already launched a full investigation into the unusual circumstances surrounding her mother's return. "Juni! Baby girl!"

The compact, muscular Staffy mix practically vibrated with excitement. Natalie crouched to greet her. "Hello, sweetheart! Mommy's home!"

Juniper enthusiastically inspected Natalie's face, shirt, and pockets. "Yes, yes. I know. You've been terribly neglected for the last three hours."

Sloane appeared beside the doorway. Juniper froze. A new human. An entirely new human. With unfamiliar smells. And potentially cheese. Sloane immediately crouched, offering a relaxed hand. "Hello there, Juni."

The dog approached cautiously. Sloane remained still. "I hear you're the one in charge around here."

Juniper sniffed her fingers. "I brought furniture, but I was hoping to negotiate passage with a head scratch."

Juniper considered the offer. Then pushed her broad head beneath Sloane's hand. Natalie laughed. "Well, that was quick."

Sloane scratched behind Juniper's ears. "Excellent. Diplomatic relations established."

Juniper leaned harder against her. "Someone has excellent negotiating skills," Sloane observed.

Natalie knelt beside them. "She's a shameless flirt."

"Again, sounds familiar."

Natalie bumped her shoulder. "Careful."

Sloane looked down at the dog, smiling with an unguarded warmth Natalie hadn't yet seen. She scratched beneath Juniper's chin, murmuring something Natalie couldn't quite hear. For a moment, Natalie simply watched. The woman who had spent the afternoon arguing about furniture, making outrageous financial demands, and stealing kisses was now kneeling on her doorstep, patiently giving attention to the creature Natalie loved most. Something inside Natalie softened. She reached over and brushed a stray lock of copper hair away from Sloane's face. Sloane looked up.

"What?"

Natalie smiled. "Nothing."

Sloane narrowed her eyes. "That's suspicious."

"Just appreciating the view."

"Ah."

Natalie kissed her cheek. "For the record, Mercer, seeing you be sweet to my girl earns you some very serious bonus points."

Sloane stood, brushing dog hair from her jeans. "I'll have my accounting department record them."

"Your accounting department is fictional."

"Best kind. Never argues with the boss."

Natalie laughed. Sloane nodded toward the truck. "Now, since I've clearly passed customs, where are we putting this magnificent beast?"

"The garage for now. We still need to refinish it."

"Smart. Lead the way."

Natalie gave Juniper another scratch. "All right, baby girl. Mommy and Sloane have work to do. You stay inside and look adorable."

Juniper regarded her with deep suspicion. Natalie closed the door behind her. "She's going to file a complaint."

"Probably."

"She has excellent legal representation."

Sloane laughed. "Of course she does."

They moved to the truck. Natalie opened the garage, then secured the door to prevent an unauthorized canine escape. Sloane lowered the tailgate. "Don't think I didn't notice you trying to avoid manual labor by cooing at the dog."

Natalie gasped. "Excuse me! I was conducting a highly important security briefing!"

"Naturally."

"You should be grateful I got you through customs."

"Extremely grateful."

Natalie rolled up her sleeves. "Now, shall we demonstrate our impressive physical capabilities?"

Sloane gripped her end of the dresser. "I'm happy to inspect your muscles, but I'm going to need proof they're functional first."

Natalie grinned. "You are more than welcome to conduct a thorough inspection."

"Later, Sinclair."

"For science."

Sloane shook her head. "Lift on three."

Natalie took her position. "Yes, ma'am."

"One. Two. Three."

Together, they lifted. The chest was awkward, heavy, and determined to make the trip as unpleasant as possible. Natalie concentrated on her footing while Sloane directed their movement through the open garage door. "Watch the corner."

"Got it."

"Little farther."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Careful."

"I have it!"

"All right. Down slowly."

They eased the dresser into its temporary position. Natalie straightened and brushed her hands together. "There!"

Sloane rolled her shoulders. "No casualties."

"No damaged furniture."

"No broken toes."

"An overwhelming success."

Natalie turned toward her. "So, Miss Structural Engineer, did I pass your little strength assessment?"

Sloane examined her thoughtfully. "Adequate."

Natalie stared. "ADEQUATE?"

Sloane's mouth twitched. "You didn't drop it. You didn't complain. I'll mark that down as a passing grade."

Natalie placed one hand dramatically over her heart. "Mercer! I just helped you carry a solid wood dresser without so much as scratching the finish!"

"Yes."

"And that's the best you've got?"

"I'm thorough."

Natalie folded her arms. "You're an incredibly demanding woman."

Sloane stepped closer. "Am I?"

"Extremely."

"Good."

Natalie looked up at her. Sloane had stopped just short of touching her. That small restraint, Natalie was beginning to discover, was more distracting than it had any right to be. "Careful with all this talk about positive reinforcement," Sloane murmured. "If you start behaving simply because I use my confident voice, I might get spoiled."

Natalie's stomach fluttered. She refused to acknowledge it. "Well, I wouldn't want that."

"Wouldn't you?"

Natalie attempted an innocent smile. "But since you seem to enjoy being in charge..."

Sloane waited. Natalie clasped her hands behind her back. "Why don't you show me what happens when I actually impress you?"

Sloane tilted her head. Natalie's voice softened. "I'm listening, ma'am."

For several seconds, Sloane said nothing. Then she stepped forward. Natalie instinctively moved backward until the edge of the workbench pressed against her hips. Sloane stopped in front of her. Close. Very close. She reached up and tucked a loose strand of Natalie's hair behind her ear. "I never said you didn't earn it."

Natalie looked into those gray-blue eyes. Sloane's fingers lingered against her cheek. "But you're right. I am demanding."

Natalie's breath caught. "I like to see a little effort before I hand out rewards."

Sloane's hand drifted down, resting against the side of Natalie's neck. Her thumb brushed gently along her jaw. "If you actually impress me, Natalie?"

Natalie swallowed. Sloane leaned closer. "I stop asking nicely."

A pause. "I take what I want."

Natalie's carefully constructed defenses collapsed with astonishing efficiency. She opened her mouth. Nothing came out. Not a joke. Not a clever retort. Not even an appropriately scandalized objection. Sloane noticed. Of course she noticed. "Lucky for you," she murmured, "that dresser is in one piece."

Natalie tried to smile. Sloane's hand remained gently against her neck. "So lean in, sweetheart. Let me see whether your kiss is as functional as those muscles."

Natalie stared at her. All afternoon, she'd been the instigator. The woman with the smart remarks. The stolen pickles. The outrageous negotiations. The one who kissed first and walked away smiling. But standing against that workbench, looking into Sloane Mercer's eyes, Natalie suddenly found herself somewhere entirely unfamiliar. And unexpectedly wonderful. Her cheeks burned. She swallowed. Then, before she could reconsider, two quiet words escaped her lips.

"Yes, Mommy."

The silence that followed felt enormous. Natalie's eyes widened slightly. She hadn't planned it. Hadn't rehearsed it. Hadn't even been certain she wanted to say it. But there it was. Hanging between them. Soft. Vulnerable. Entirely sincere. Sloane's eyebrows shot upward. For the first time that afternoon, genuine surprise crossed her face. Natalie's heart pounded. She could have laughed. Made a joke. Pretended she'd said something else. But she didn't. She simply looked up at Sloane, waiting. Something shifted in the other woman's expression. The surprise faded. A slow, knowing smile took its place.

"Oh," Sloane murmured.

Her hand settled more securely against Natalie's neck. "Now that is interesting."

Natalie felt her face grow warmer. Sloane studied her for another moment. "I wasn't expecting you to fold that easily, Sinclair."

A hint of a smile touched her lips. "But I can't say I dislike it."

Natalie opened her mouth. Sloane shook her head slightly. "If we're doing this, sweetheart, we're doing it my way."

Her voice was quiet. Certain. "No take-backs just because you're embarrassed. No hiding behind jokes."

Natalie held her gaze. Then, very slowly, she smiled. Sloane's eyes dropped to her lips. "Good."

And this time, she didn't wait for Natalie to make the first move. She drew her close and kissed her with a confidence that left absolutely no doubt how much she'd wanted to. Natalie's hands found Sloane's waist. Her eyes closed. And somewhere behind them, forgotten against the garage wall, the walnut dresser stood silently witnessing the most consequential negotiation of the afternoon.