Yes.
No.
“You’re here,” I said. “Sit down before your ice cream melts.”
He took the chair across from me, the blue sky and sand framing him as he stole their beauty.
I was still angry. But I’d known him all my life. It wasn’t like we hadn’t argued before. Gotten into fights. We both knew how to apologize, how to keep our friendship a friendship.
I wasn’t sure if that was what we had anymore, if we even had anything to keep.
“So Myra fired you,” I said over the top of my coffee as I held the cup to my lips. I didn’t drink, but I needed the illusion of a barrier between us.
He dug his spoon into the ice cream, mashing and mixing it beneath the caramel, gaze fixed on it, but not eating. “We knew this was a temporary thing.”
I wondered if he meant the job or us.
I took a sip of my coffee. It was cold. I set the cup down and we both stared carefully at the table between us.
“You said Old Rossi was right.” Ryder stuck his spoon in the melting mess of sundae and picked up the paper napkin, wiping his fingers on it. His gaze lifted to catch mine. “Right about what?”
“I don’t think that matters now.”
Gold. His eyes were pools of mossy gold ringed by deep green. I’d been looking into those eyes for so many years. Looking for the man I thought I could love.
“Please, Delaney.”
Myra said he had come home a different man than when he had left. But this man in front of me was the man I’d always known. My once-friend. My always-and-never love, Ryder Bailey.
“He wasn’t happy we hired you. Thought you would be trouble.”
“He said that?”
“Yes.”
“I wasn’t trouble.”
I raised my eyebrows. He winced and looked down.
“I wasn’t trouble atwork,” he clarified. “I was good at the job. Would still work there if you need—if the department needs more hands.”
“I’ll keep it in mind. But for now I need some space, Ryder. It’s been a shitty week.”
“Not all of it.” His eyes on mine again. Soft. Warm with the kindness I knew, and aching with something I’d only glimpsed.
Desire.
He couldn’t still want me. Not after he broke up with me. Did he only want the things he couldn’t have?
Nope. I would not play that game. I was taking my heart and going home.
“It’s getting late,” I said.
He reached across the table, his calloused fingertips brushing the back of my hand. “Old Rossi isn’t what he seems to be.”
That stopped me cold. Did he know that Old Rossi was a vampire? A very old and powerful one. Or did he know the secrets of Ordinary? Was that why Old Rossi thought Ryder would be trouble?
“What do you mean?”
