I rubbed my gloved hands together to get the dirt off and walked over. “Sure.”
“Need your signature on the updated statement,” he said. “Olivier and Nico’s stories don’t match yours.”
“Shocking,” I muttered. “What are they saying?”
He sighed. “Something about you exaggerating what happened. But they slipped up. Mentioned someone else I haven’t identified yet. I think they’re up to something, Harmony. Keep your head down for a few days.”
Eric shifted closer without meaning to, arms crossed, jaw tight. “You have patrols running near her place tonight?”
“Already arranged,” Becket said. “But maybe stay in the center of town, okay?”
If my brother and Nico were up to something, I didn’t want to get caught in the crossfire. Growing up I knew what that looked like.
“Got it,” I said, though my stomach knotted.
Becket gave me one of those looks that saw more than I wanted him to, then nodded once and drove off. The street went quiet again, except for the sound of rain starting up. I shivered before I could stop myself.
Eric noticed immediately. “You should get inside. You’re soaked.”
“You’re soaked too,” I shot back.
I hesitated a moment because my instinct was to invite him up to the loft for a warm drink. It was a crazy thought, but then he grinned as he picked up more branches and those soulful eyes did something to my insides. As if I was on autopilot, I said, “Come up to the loft. It’s warmer there. I’ll make tea.”
For a heartbeat, he just looked at me, like he was weighing the danger of saying yes. Then he nodded. “Tea sounds good.”
I exhaled the moment he agreed and we walked together silently down the street to the loft. The loft smelled faintly of lavender and rain. I kicked off my boots near the door while he left his by the mat, dripping onto the wood. He was still damp from the cleanup, jacket half unzipped, hair curling slightly at the ends. My heart hadn’t gotten the memo this was supposed to be friendly.
“Sit,” I said, lighting a candle near the window. The flame caught, small but steady.
He did, at my little kitchen table. His broad shoulders filled the space, the soft hum of the kettle the only sound between us. I poured the tea, steam curling between us like breath.
He wrapped his hands around the mug. “You didn’t have to invite me in.”
“You looked cold,” I shrugged.
“I’ve been colder,” he retorted like he held a different meaning. I thought back to a time when we first spoke at school on the bleachers in the cold.
“Not the point,” I said, smiling. “You’re allowed to thaw out sometimes.”
He watched me over the rim of the cup, eyes tracing my face like he was remembering every feature he’d once known by heart. “You always did know how to make a place feel like spring.”
The words landed low in my stomach. “You shouldn’t still say things like that.”
“Why not?” he asked so innocently.
“Because you mean them,” I said softly.
He didn’t deny it. The silence that followed felt heavier than the rain outside.
I broke it first. “Becket’s worried. Thinks Nico and Olivier aren’t done.”
His jaw tensed. “They’re never done. Olivier is very happy to continue where your father left off, and Nico is only happy to please.”
“I just told the truth. I didn’t think that would make me a target,” I confessed.
“You stood up to people who use fear like currency. You don’t back down, and they hate that.” He reached across the table, histhumb brushing the back of my hand before I could pull away. “You’re safe now, Sunshine.”
The name hit me in the same place it always did, somewhere between my ribs and my heart. It was messing with my head. When he called me Sunshine at eighteen it was intimate.Now we were supposed to be friends,I thought.
