The town still seems half asleep when we reach Main Street. When he finally cuts the engine in front of the Applewood Inn, the sudden quiet feels awkward. My pulse hammers from more than just the ride. I’m not ready to say goodbye to him, yet.
“Thanks for the ride,” I say, pushing the helmet off and shaking out my hair. “And for…other things.” My lips curve into a half smile.
He reaches out, curling one arm around my waist and drags me close, knocking me off-balance. I fall against him laughing and press my hands to his chest.
His intense gaze searches my face like he wants to commit my features to memory. “You’re welcome for…everything.” His voice drops to a low, sensual rumble and now I really don’t want to say goodbye.
“Are you sure you have to go?” I ask, trying to keep the pout off my lips.
The heat in his eyes dials down to a mild simmer. “Stay close to people today. Don’t wander around alone.”
“Is that a general safety tip or related to the curse?”
“Both.”
“I have more research to do. I’ll probably return to the library.” I shift my gaze in the direction of Main Street. “And I definitely need to stop by the fudge shop again.”
He blows out an exasperated breath.
“Look, I know how to handle myself, Declan.” I pat his shoulder and step back, putting some distance between us. “If I run into the Rider, I’ll just interview him until he gets bored and gallops away.”
“It doesn’t work that way, Emery.” His gaze drops to my sleeve where the faint green glow from my mark peeks through. “If anyone asks about it, just say it’s a new tattoo.”
“What if they want to look at it closer?”
“Say it’s too tender.”
I nod quickly. “I can do that.”
“And, uh…maybe don’t mention to Mrs. Applewood that you stayed at my place.”
Wow. Okay.His tone’s cautious, not cold, but it still stings.
But sure, he’s a local business owner and a descendant of the founders of the town. He probably likes to keep his scandalous tourist affairs under wraps.
“Got it. No problem.” I gesture toward the inn. “Not like everyone inside didn’t hear your bike pulling up.”
His jaw tightens. “That’s not?—”
“Nope. We’re good.” I turn and hurry up the front stairs, wood thudding under my hurried steps.
The engine rumbles to life again. By the time I reach the porch and glance back, he’s pulling away. A few seconds later, he’s swallowed by the fog.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Declan
Emery still doesn’t seemto get it. There’s a literal glowing mark wrapped around her arm and she still doesn’t believe. She said we’reboundlike it’s a romantic fairy tale instead of a fatal curse.
Maybe her refusal to believe will keep her safe. I wasn’t kidding when I said belief gives the Rider power. If she leaves town without finishing her story, she might survive.
But the thought of never seeing Emery again leaves a coldness in my chest I’ve never experienced before. I shouldn’t have left her this morning. Or I should’ve insisted she come into the shop with me for the day where I could keep an eye on her. To protect her? Or to spend more time with her? Does it matter?
By the time I pull into my spot behind the shop, guilt and longing have taken up residence behind my ribs.
Inside, the air smells like disinfectant and old ink. I turn on the lights and move through the silent shop. My first appointment should be here soon. I check the notes for the piece he wants—great white shark wearing a black conical hat, riding a unicorn with a rainbow-colored mane and tail.
My temples throb. It’s not the most absurd request I’ve ever had. Part of a tattoo artist’s job is to work with the client to turntheir idea into something that will actually lookgoodas a tattoo. Clients who’ve done their research understand this. And a good artist should be able to capture the key elements of the idea. I sort through the rough sketches, hoping one of them fits the client’s vision and won’t end up looking like an acid-fueled fever dream.
