Like the ghost girl at the lighthouse waiting for her love to return from the sea.
Except we weren’t going to pull any tourist dollars off our absent god situation.
“Beers are on the house. I’m working up some holiday brews and need the feedback.”
“No rhubarb?”
He laughed, a liquid bark that sounded a little like a sea lion, something I would never say to his face, since I liked free beer.
“No rhubarb. Pumpkin, spices, coconut. Give it a go.”
I lifted the deep, dark beer that had a shaft of red where light hit it the hardest, and sipped. Gods, that was good.
“Amazing,” I said. “This is a winner.”
Chris gave me a half bow, and then wandered off to the next table, depositing a sampler tray.
I took Ryder’s fry and bit down into the heat and crunch and salt of it. My appetite was still off. So was my breathing and sleep schedule and range of motion.
Basically, getting shot with a blood and dirt bullet meant to take out a vampire left all sorts of lingering pains and weirdness.
I was recovering, and as far as the doctors, ancient texts, and witches could tell, I would be whole in the long run. But the short run was still sort of a day to day thing filled with pain and change, and hope for tomorrow to be better in small ways.
“Why don’t you tell me why you don’t want to go home.” Ryder picked up his beer, took one drink, then pushed everything to one side of the table so he could fold his elbows down and watch me. See me.
I resisted the urge to rub at my neck, where the bite from Lavius had faded to soft red freckles I wasn’t sure I’d ever be rid of. The tie between us though? That was gone. Blessedly so.
And so was he.
Except for when I closed my eyes, when I dreamed at night, or when a shadow shifted in my quiet house. Then he was everywhere, his hatred, his anger, his cruelty.
I heard the gun in every loud noise, and in every soft silence, Rossi’s apology,“Forgive me, Delaney”right before he had shoved me into that gun, that bullet, that death. I hadn’t seen Rossi since I’d come back to life. The scratch on my neck he’d given me to prove his claim was gone, healing like a normal scratch.
Leaving a lot of confusion behind.
“You can start by telling me where you just went right then.” Ryder’s voice was easy, gentle. The tone he’d been using an awful lot with me lately. A tone that reminded me that maybe I wasn’t as whole and healed and strong as I hoped I was.
I was getting there, I just wasn’t at the finish line yet.
I rubbed my fingers through the cool condensation on my glass, trying to pull up the nerve to tell him the truth. Oh, who was I kidding? I’d never been good at lying to him.
I lifted my gaze, and was caught by the green of his eyes, the smile that did not hold pity, only interest, only love.
How had I gotten so lucky?
“It’s my home. I grew up there. I love it. I know I love it.”
He waited while I fiddled with my napkin. I thought about stealing another French fry just to sort of lighten the mood, but had a feeling he wouldn’t fall for it.
“A lot of my good memories, years of them are in that house. But since the fight. I just can’t see past it.”
“Move in with me.”
And wow, that was not what I had expected. I thought he was going to offer to sleep over a few nights, maybe suggest I get someone in there to cleanse the vibes or smudge the spirits or make me buy a cat or some such thing.
He took the utter surprise on my face in stride. “It doesn’t have to be permanent, but for a little while, a few days, a few weeks, move in with me. You can have the spare room if you want your own space. Your own bed.” He paused, then carried on as if he didn’t want to give me a chance to argue. “Spud loves you. Dog has good taste.”
“Spud loves me, huh?”
