“Elyna and I became friends at that point,” I said to him.
“Yeah, well, my mom didn’t die, but it felt like she did with the way she took off. Becket can’t let it go and he thinks Marcel is involved somehow.”
I chuckled sadly. “Because my father is the root of evil in this town.”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“You have nothing to apologize for. That’s my inheritance,” I claimed.
“It doesn’t have to be,” he said softly.
“Wishful thinking,” I snorted. “Some things never change, Eric.” I felt sick. “Becket shouldn’t be digging into this alone. My father is involved with very dangerous men.”
“He won’t stop,” Eric said quietly. “He’s convinced whatever happened to Maggie and your father’s business deals were connected. And now, with Marcel’s name back in the mix...” He trailed off. “It’s a lot.”
“Everything in this town is,” I said.
He gave a small smile. “Tea tonight?”
I blinked. “You’re not tired of tea yet?”
“Not if it means seeing you.” Those simple words did something to my insides. They made me breathe easier, lighter.
I rolled my eyes, trying to hide the way my pulse jumped. “Seven.” I was mush for this guy.
“I’ll bring the pastries.”
“Of course you will.” I laughed a true hearty laugh.
He grinned and turned back toward the bakery, the faintest warmth cutting through the heaviness in my chest. Watching him go, I couldn’t help but think how easy it would be to fall back into something I’d never quite fallen out of.
When I finally climbed the stairs to my loft that evening, the air still smelled of rain and cut flowers. I set the kettle on the stove, tidied the table, and told myself to relax. But my nerves buzzed like a warning.
At seven sharp, there was a soft knock.
Eric stood in the doorway, hair damp from a shower, holding a paper bag and the half-smile that always did dangerous things to my heartbeat.
“I brought the pastries,” he said.
“You don’t disappoint,” I replied, stepping aside.
He came in, filling the small space with warmth and quiet steadiness. I poured tea while he unpacked two lemon tarts that made the room smell sweet.
“Good choice,” I said to him.
“I didn’t forget,” he replied and cleared his throat as our gazes locked. The air felt charged for a brief moment until he said, “I’m guessing you are coming to Elyna and Phoenix’s wedding Thanksgiving weekend.” He settled across from me.
I nodded. “She sent me an invitation when I was still in Montreal.”
“Braden turns two the day before, so she says it’s going to be one long celebration,” he continued.
“That little boy’s going to be spoiled.”
“Already is,” he confirmed.
Silence settled between us, soft and comfortable. Outside, the wind had died, leaving only the sound of dripping water from the eaves.
“I hope my brother isn’t causing you too much grief with his digging,” he suddenly blurted.
