* * *
On a Saturday morning, I woke up to the sound of Scout whining at the bedroom door.I’d spent the night at Declan’s.This had become a regular occurrence over the past few weeks, regular enough that I’d started leaving a toothbrush in his bathroom and a clean shirt in his closet.We hadn’t discussed the significance of that.We hadn’t discussed a lot of things.We just kept showing up, which was what we’d agreed to do, and so far it was working.
Declan was asleep beside me, lying on his stomach with one arm thrown across my chest.His face was pressed into the pillow, and his breathing was slow and even.He slept like a man with a clear conscience.The case being closed was a relief for him.He lingered over coffee in the morning, and he tried his best to get off work at a decent hour so we could have dinner together.He was trying, and I could see it.
I eased out from under his arm and let Scout in.The dog launched himself onto the bed and began licking Declan’s face with the enthusiasm of someone who’d been waiting his whole life for this moment.
“Blech,” Declan groaned, holding Scout at bay with one muscular arm.“Why, Spencer?Why?”
“Because it’s time to get up.”I grinned, and I headed to the kitchen to make coffee.
I learned more about him every day.Small things that added up to who he was.I knew which side of the bed he preferred and that he hated cilantro with a passion.I learned bigger things about him too.That he meant what he said or he wouldn’t say it.That when he said he’d call, he’d call.If I was upset about something, he wanted to talk it out.I wasn’t used to that.Marcus had communicated primarily through notes and the silent treatment.Declan was steady.Calm.I was worried that I was beginning to rely on him, and I also secretly kept waiting for the part where he let me down.
So far, he hadn’t.
He appeared in the kitchen doorway, shirtless, hair auburn and tousled, pajama pants low on his hips.He took the mug of coffee I handed him with a tired smile.“Thank you.”
“I’m working on sainthood.”
He smirked.“After last night, yeah, I don’t think so.Saints don’t do those kinds of things with their mouths.”
“You’re right.I’m not a saint.”I moved closer to him, slipping my arms around his waist.I kissed the scar under his jaw.“No saint would be caught dead dating a ginger.Gingers have no soul.”
He laughed, and I grinned up at him.
“Where did you hear that?”he asked, shaking his head.
“I can’t remember.But I found it amusing.”I laughed.“I’m so glad I finally got to use it on a real, live ginger.”
He fake-scowled.“Yeah?Well, everyone knows reporters have no soul.”
“Maybe that’s why we get along so well.”I kissed him and went to make us toast.
“What do you want to do today?”he asked, coming over to where I was working near the toaster.
“I don’t know,” I said.“What do you want to do?”
“We could take Scout to the bluff trail.Grab lunch at the Rusty Anchor.”
I hesitated.“Uh… I’d rather not go there.Let’s eat somewhere else.”Declan didn’t speak, so I glanced at him.“Is that okay?”
“Of course.”He studied me.“But we should go back there at some point.”
“Why?”I grabbed the toast and began buttering it.“There are plenty of other restaurants in town.”
He leaned against the counter and grabbed one of the pieces I’d already buttered.He crunched into it, chewing as he watched me.
I squirmed a little under his gaze.“Does it matter that we don’t go there for lunch?”
“No.”He swallowed his bite of toast.“What matters to me is why you don’t want to go there.”
“You know why.It brings back too many bad memories.”
“You don’t have anything to feel guilty about, Spencer.”His voice was gentle.
I winced inwardly.“Who said I’m guilty about anything?”
“Me.”He moved closer, pinning me against the counter.His arms were on either side of me, and he held my gaze.“None of the bad things that happened were your fault.”
