But …
The tables are full, and I’d really like to sit. So I slowly shuffle toward him, his tail whacking the bench even harder as I approach and sit on the empty seat near him. I take a bite of my brownie. The reality of being alone on this bench, or any bench for the last six years by myself, hovers over me like a wet fog. Normally, chocolate would boost my attitude, but this time, it does nothing.
Max whines at me, resting his nose on the curved discolored iron arm of the bench, and I sigh. Probing my pocket, I come up with my vape pen, and I twirl it in my hands, watching the sleek black reflect the string lights above.
Max nudges my knee.
“Stop it,” I say, ignoring his beg.
Since Noah’s mom came into the diner, I haven’t been able to vape, which is infuriating when I could really use the calm. That tubing,hertubing, wrapped delicately around her ears and up into her nose—it’s all I see when I reach for my pen.
Logically I know there’s unknown long-term effects of vaping and whether it has any direct link to lung cancer is ongoing but … her pale near translucent skin and her damn reliance on a tank full of air—I tuck the pen into my pocket and wipe my clammy palms over my shaggy jeans.
With the sun setting behind the Main Street buildings, the chill in the air gets worse, and I wrap my hands in the sleeves of my shirt.
Max whines again, and I turn to look at him, pursing my lips. His ears perk up, and he tilts his head, those dark expressive eyes dissecting me. He doesn’t look cold at all, and when I extend a hand into his short fur, it’s warm and soft.
He allows me to pet him as he sits next to me, watching the people mill about.
You’re not too bad,I think to myself, almost indulging in a smile.Kinda cute, even.
I’m so caught up in the moment, I don’t hear his boots approach. The roughness of his voice cuts through the steady hum from the cook-off.
“Is this you not doing dogs?”
Chapter 11
Noah
In my line of work, I’m trained to spot what’s out of place, to hunt suspicious behavior, or to see what others don’t. So when I spot Lily sitting on a bench out of the way from everything and petting Max, I almost choke on my mouthful of chili.
“You okay?” Morgan asks.
I nod and snatch a bottle of water off the table.
Paul Tate, Pinebrook’s sheriff, whacks me on the back as I aim to take a sip, but the water sloshes out and onto my plate of desserts instead. I turn to regard him, and he gives me that boyish smile he’s known for. Tate is all six-foot-three—three inches taller than me—with curly blond hair, and rich, earthy eyes that contrast his sharp facial features. Especially his nose, which is slightly crooked from a break the year after high school, but when he smiles, those dimples on either side of his grin appear, causing most women in this town to drop their panties. Except for Morgan. Probably the one woman he’d prefer to warm his bed won’t give him the time of day.
“Paul! Seriously, did you hit him hard enough?” Morgan glares at him, and Paul’s face falls.
I laugh. “It’s fine.” Then I turn my head to check if Lily is still there. She is.
I’d moved Max to beside the bench before eating, keeping him in my line of sight, but away from the young kids running all around the tables while they shoved donuts in their faces. Since Max is a working dog, I stay prudent with him, knowing his strength and drive. He’s not accustomed to so many little kids running and screaming. So I gave him the command to sit and stay, and he’s been content to watch over the festivities from his spot.
Honestly, it hasn’t been that long, ten minutes tops. I’d already determined I’d scarf down my chili, so he didn’t have to sit over there alone, and while I kept my eyes peeled for Lily during my parade about the booths with Tate, seeking her out to get a glimpse of those salt-colored eyes, I hadn’t expected her to be sitting next to Max willingly.
And Max, the traitor, he doesn’t sit for anyone else to pet him. Ever.
“That must be the new girl around here,” Tate says, tapping his knuckles on the table to garner my attention.
He squints, taking her in, and I know he sees what I see. She’s different—there’s an edge to her, the way she carries herself with a secret defiance, like the world around her and its nonsense doesn’t matter to her. Or maybe like she’s gathering in all the words to spill on paper—my mind flicks to the small book she had on her at the hospital.
Her bulky boots scuff against the sidewalk pavement, and I follow Tate’s gaze as he trails his eyes down her legs, enraptured by the dichotomy Lily seems to be.
My jaw tightens, heat prickling my nape as he continues his slow, appreciative stare. Each second makes something inside me whorl, tight and protective.
“That’s her. Kind of weird she’d pick Pinebrook to steam roll her way through,” Morgan says, and I catch her gaze flick back and forth between me and Lily.
I, however, don’t remove my eyes from where Lily’s hand scratches Max’s ears as I stand. “Yeah …” I absentmindedly answer.
