Declan’s gaze flicks to my face like he can read every nervous thought tumbling around in my head. He brushes his thumb against my knee.
“What kind of research?” His voice is low and curious but not demanding.
A tiny pulse of heat flares under the mark on my arm. I swallow. “Just…following some threads I didn’t finish yesterday.”
He studies me for so long my skin prickles. But he doesn’t push. Or maybe he doesn’t want to know.
“All right, little crow.” He nudges my chin up with one knuckle. “Please be careful.”
“It’s daylight.” I nod to the weak light curling around the edges of the heavy black curtains covering the window. “I’ll be fine.”
He doesn’t seem convinced. “You’d be surprised how quick things can change.”
He holds the box and fork out to me and I take them, quickly stuffing my mouth full of cake so I don’t break down and admit what I saw and where I’m planning to go today.
While I finish the cake, he pads over to the closet and pulls a black—what else—sweatshirt off of a hanger and tosses it on the bed. “It’s pretty cold out. And your coat’s still a little wet.”
I scoop up the sweatshirt. It’s heavier than it looks, with a Carhartt logo stitched on the chest and a small hole in one sleeve. I hold it up to my nose, inhaling the scent of detergent and Declan.
“Thanks.”
He leans over the bed and kisses my cheek. “I should be thanking you. You look good in my shirts.”
Thank God I’m sitting down or I might melt into a puddle.
Who is this sweet man, who only a few days ago was grumpy as hell and kicked me out of his shop?
“You look even better in them,” I say.
It’s not until we’re both dressed and headed downstairs that last night’s visions nudge me again.
A door closing.
Wet grass.
I stop and grip the handrail.
Flash of metal.
I bite the inside of my cheek and shove the memory down deep, where I can deal with it later.
Declan stops at the bottom of the stairs, turns, and frowns. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I force a bright smile and continue down the stairs. “Too much sugar, too early in the morning.”
His lips turn down with regret. “Sorry, I should’ve fed you a proper breakfast.”
“It’s okay. I’m sure Mrs. Applewood will have some nice greasy bacon waiting for me.”
“That she probably will.” He grabs my hand, pulling me closer. “Come by this afternoon when you’re done.”
It’s more a statement than an invitation. My stomach flips. There’s no awkwardness of a one-night stand or guessing with Declan. He wants to see me again later and says so plainly.
A girl could get used to this.
“I can do that.”
He holds my gaze for a beat, jaw flexing like he wants to say more. Maybe warn me to be careful. Avoid the cemetery. Or maybe he doesn’t want to say goodbye either?
