I nod. “Coffee first, corpse second.”
His head jerks. “Whoa, hold your horses right quick. You were serious?”
I hide my awkwardness in big gulps of hot coffee. Delicious, perfectly brewed coffee. He still remembers how I liked it. An extra dark roast, black, no sugar.
Our eyes meet over the ceramic rim and though he’s silent, I read every emotion in his gaze. Worry. Hesitant joy. Confusion mirroring my own. And endless warmth.
My chest hurts.
Despite basically breaking in and crashing on his couch, he’s made me feel welcome. I expectedscorched earth. Ground zero. But Rust being so sweet and gentle, just like he used to be before he broke my heart—it makes everything harder.
Harder to breathe. Harder to keep up my guard. Harder to stop myself from thinking about those strong arms holding me while he tells me everything is gonna be okay.
But I know one thing with certainty:
I was right to come home.
6
TALLY
“You didwhatnow?”Rust asks as he pours bourbon into my second mug of coffee.
“I told you I was driving back from a solo retreat in the woods. I wanted to prepare for my tour and?—”
He raises a palm. “Yeah, I got that bit. Can you skip to the accident?”
“I took a sharp right turn when suddenly, this guy jumps from the tree line out into the road. I slammed my foot on the brakes, but there was no way I could’ve stopped in time.”
“Alright. And where is he now?”
“In my trunk. Dead.” I rub my temples. “It’s typical, really. That’s what I get for trying to form healthy habits and prioritize rest for once in my life. I should unfollow #SelfCare. Cause if I hadn’t seen a million pastel-colored posts telling me I needed a ‘recharge to focus on myself’ I wouldn’t have booked this trip. I blame the sponsored content for turning me into a murderer.”
Rust blinks at me like I’m speaking in tongues.
Before he can call an exorcist, I point at the bottle. “Make it a double, please?”
He pours more into my cup before taking a swig of amber straight from the bottle. I can’t blame the man. All things considered, he’s taking the news well.
“You’re sure he’s dead?” he asks.
“He seemed pretty deceased when I wrapped him in tarp and stuffed him into my trunk.”
“And nobody saw you?”
“It happened up on a damn mountain! I picked that cabin precisely because there’s nothing around. I’m positive nobody saw. Unless a squirrel is gonna rat me out.” I squint at him. “Or maybeyouwill?”
“What kinda piece of shit husband would snitch on his wife?”
Butterflies riot in my belly.
“So you’ll help me get rid of… it?” I wince. “I mean get rid ofhim?”
“No need to flutter your lashes and plead with them big green eyes of yours. Don’t you know that you already got me wrapped around your little finger?”
I flush. Usually, I pay no mind to compliments from men. But when Rust says this cheesy stuff, it sounds genuine. It’s so sugary sweet I can feel myself getting a cavity—and somehow I like it.
He stretches his arms over his head like a warmup. “Nothin’ like a Friday morning corpse disposal to ring in the weekend.”
