Wren: omg did you actually find a ghost or just cute locals?
I smile despite myself and type back:
Me: I’m fine. Small town, of course I heard about Mason coming home.
My thumb hovers over the keyboard. Should I tell her about the glowing green mark? The curse? Declan?
No. She’ll panic, demand I FaceTime her, and order me to come home.
Me: Just researching. I’ll send pics later.
I shove the phone back into my bag and close my notebook. The longer I sit here, the harder it is to ignore the ache under my skin—the restless pull to see Declan again. To make sure he’s okay. To prove last night wasn’t a fantasy sewn out of fog and bad decisions.
By the time I leave the library, the clouds have burned off enough to paint the storefronts in watery sunlight. The shop door to Chocolate Enchantments is propped open, and the scent of sugar wafts out like a siren song.
Inside, the girl behind the counter looks up and grins. “Back so soon?”
“For research purposes,” I tell her solemnly, pointing at the display. “Maple walnut, Rocky Road, and…surprise me—just nothing with mint.”
She laughs. “Rough day?”
“Let’s call it complicated.”
“You got it.”
A few minutes later, I step back onto Main Street clutching a paper bag heavy with a box of fudge. Should I go back to the inn?
Maybe Declan’s done for the day? I turn left toward House of Ink & Iron. If he’s still working, maybe he won’t mind me watching?
The closer I get, the faster my heart pounds. The shop’s tinted windows make it nearly impossible to see inside without pressing my nose to the glass.
I take a breath, square my shoulders, and push open the door. The bell jingles overhead.
The scent of cleaner and coffee hits my nose first. Then silence. No machines buzzing at the moment. No one grunting through the pain of getting inked.
Feminine laughter curls around the corner. My heart stops. I cock my head, listening. Is Declan with a client who’s ticklish?
That’s the best-case scenario.
Laughter trills again, luring me further into the shop.
It’s probably just a client. Nothing to get worked up over.
Why didn’t it ever occur to me that Declan probably sees women half naked all the time? He touches them. Plans art for their bodies. Finds the perfect placement on their skin.
No wonder he’s so good with his hands.
Stop it! It’s not like he owns a strip club, for god’s sake.I shake my head, hoping to silence the jealous commentary and stop the obscenely delicious images from last night replaying in my mind.
A woman walks out of the back hallway—short, dark pixie cut that emphasizes her high cheekbones, wine-red lips, confidence overflowing. She blinks and frowns at me, then quickly offers a friendly smile.
“Hi, can I help you?”
“Hi.” I clutch the bag of fudge tighter in my fist. “I’m…I’m looking for Declan.”
What am I so nervous about? He spent the night withme. I have every right to show up out of the blue and demand to see him. Right? That’s how this works, isn’t it?
Her gaze drops to a wide book on the counter. “He’s busy right now. Do you have an appointment?”
