“We can go,” I concede.
One of his brows quirks in question. “You sure?” When I nod, he studies me, as if waiting for me to change my mind, then gestures toward the cashier. “All right,” he says, walking ahead of me.
He pulls out his card, and I hurry to catch up. “What are you doing?”
“Buying a book,” he says nonchalantly.
I narrow my eyes on him. “What book?”
“This one.” He setsThe Love Alibion the counter.
I blink in surprise. When did he even grab it? And since when is book-buying part of the bad-boy package—and why is it working on me?
“N-no, you’re not. What for? You’ll never read it.”
He tilts his head at me, amusement dancing in his eyes. “What are you, the book police?”
I’d like to retort, but no words come out. “Why do you want it?”
He just shrugs, that mischievous glint in his eyes growing stronger. “Maybe I want to see what happens next. Don’t you?”
My cheeks flush instantly. I can still feel his breath near my ear as he read those lines. I quickly turn away, trying to hide my burning face. “Not unless the twist is that he turns out to be a serial killer.”
The clerk joins us at the register, interrupting us. Once I’ve spent this month’s grocery budget in books I won’t get to read for weeks, Rafael effortlessly grabs the two large paper bags like they weigh nothing and heads for the exit.
Oddly flustered, I trail after him. He’s making this seem so easy. Too easy. Like he was born to chauffeur me around and act like my personal shopper. Like doing things for me comes naturally.
Outside, he places the bags in the trunk of his car, then turns to me with that same bright, disarming charm. “Should I take you home, Freckles?”
“Sure, yes,” I respond automatically, even though my mind is a mess of jumbled thoughts. I have a podcast episode to rewrite, yet I already know the man standing in front of me is all I’ll be able to think about. The ease of being around him and the terrifying consequences of getting used to his presence.
I slide into the passenger seat, feeling the click of the seat belt as I buckle in. I wait for the engine to start, but Rafael leans back against the headrest.
“Everything okay?”
He exhales slowly. His hair’s all messy curls, a few strands falling over his forehead. The silver hoop in his nose shines in the dashboard light. “Yeah. I had a great time. Did you?”
His words catch me off guard. A great time?Ienjoyed myself, but I can’t fathom how he could’ve had agoodtime, let alone a great one.
I nod, though it feels more like a reflex than a conscious response.
Turning his focus to the road, he sighs. Black ink curls into the shape of a snake winding around his left forearm, its head resting just above his wrist. He adjusts his grip on the wheel, the heavy silver ring on his middle finger glinting in the faint streetlights. “The funeral’s tomorrow.”
I blink, surprised he brought up the topic. So far, he’s hardly mentioned his father, and I didn’t want to pry. Will he want me to attend? I wasn’t planning to—I didn’t even like the man—but that was before… well, before Rafael came back. Before the last few days. “I know. How are you doing?”
After a moment of hesitation, he snickers. “I’m good. And awful. It’ll be packed, won’t it?”
The funeral of the owner of the only pub-bar-café-club in town? “Afraid so.”
He tightens his grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening. “I hate this. All of it. The thought of standing there, pretending I know what to say when people come up to me with that tragic look on their faces, telling me how sorry they are.”
“Oh, that’s easy. You say, ‘Thank you for coming.’ When they ask you how you’re holding up, you say, ‘One day at a time.’ And to people who want to know what they can do for you, you ask them to light a candle in honor of your dad.”
A long exhale, then he says, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for your parents’ funeral.”
It wasn’t his fault, of course, but I wish he’d been there, too. It remains the worst day of my life, even worse than the day they died. It was at their funeral that it sank in that they were really gone.
“How was it?”
