At last, he looks to the ground, clears his throat. “Let’s get that coffee.”
18Coffee Date
I am playing a dangerous game, but I cannot stop myself. The shop is small, a handful of aluminum tables set too close. But the coffee is good—not over-roasted or chalky, like that silt that comes out of Myrtle’s pot—with a selection of flavored syrups and a milk frother, local art on the walls. The girl behind the counter wears her dreads in a floppy bun, the tattoo on the back of her hand spreading and retracting as she moves through a flurry of motions. Regis steers me toward a table in a back corner where the light from the front window doesn’t quite reach, retrieving our drinks once they’re ready.
I sit, back to the wall, and stare at my hands. My weeks-old manicure has not held up. The white has chipped away from nearly every tip, leaving glossy flesh-pink patches in the middle; my cuticles are fringed with hangnails. I addnail polish removerto my mental grocery list.
He takes his seat across from me, passing me a wide-mouth cup of cappuccino. For a moment, I lose myself in the steam, wafting on it like a current back to the red brick and fig ivy of my favorite coffee shop in Charleston, those little blue plates of scones. Before Henry, I used to sit in there on a spring afternoon, listening to the muted conversations around me, the gentle patter of raindrops on the glass, phone down on the table, pretending I was no one, sinking into the stripes on the walls, pooling like cream. It was blissful then, my life. I wanted someone to share that feeling with.
“Been a while?” he asks.
My eyes flutter open. I have a habit of revealing too much to this man, same as he does me. I wonder if he knows that. I think he must. It only makes him more dangerous for me. “Myrtle wouldn’t know a milk frother from a garlic press,” I joke.
He grins, then looks down at his own caffè americano, letting the smile drop. His face takes on a deadly serious grimace, as if his thoughts cause him pain.
“Do you have more questions for me?”
There’s a flash of hurt in his eyes, a quick tug of the brows. “This is off duty.”
I relax into my seat, letting the small of my back round against it.
“You knew that man at the café was a domestic abuser. And just now, at Beth Ann’s place, you said the killer was still circling. And then we heard—”
“It was a twig snap,” I tell him. “We don’t know what we heard.” Admitting anything more would only embroil us further, leaving us both vulnerable in the end. And I can’t be sure yet. I’m still learning, still adjusting to my senses.
He nods once and leans back, appraising me. “You don’t really believe that.”
I shrug, remembering Myrtle watching the black night outside her cabin with wild eyes before the deer stepped out. “There are a lot of things in these woods.” Including her. Including me.
But my heart jumps momentarily in my chest, that animal feeling returning. There is an awareness behind my breastbone that wasn’t there before. New life inside me. The stirrings of a primal intelligence. Causing me to flinch.
This inheritance—a curse, a power, magic, venom, whatever you call it—sits in me like a seed. A tiny sac of unknowns, dissolving. The witch unfurls. I worry she will squeeze me out.
“See, that right there.” He leans forward. “You were thinking something.”
“Was I?”
“It passed across your face.”
I take a breath, try to school my features.Behave.
He shifts back, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s gone now.”
I spin my cup on the table, take a sip, watch him over the rim. “Why are you so interested in me?”
His eyebrows lift, bottom lip jutting out. He glances over his shoulder and leans across the table. “Other than the obvious,” he says, gesturing to indicate an appearance I apparently take for granted, “I wish I knew.”
I set my cup down and level my gaze on him. “That’s not very flattering.”
His lips tug up. “I didn’t think flattery would work on you.”
He’s right. Henry has beaten the joy of male attention out of me, the silky weight of it. It’s excruciating now, like a deep tissue bruise.
He’s eyeing me. “There it is.”
“What?”
“The place you go when you’re not here.”
