Ben.
Somehow, the furniture still held his scent. The sheets were new—I’d bought them myself—as was the mattress topper. And the pillows. But the mattress… The headboard. The dresser and nightstand. They all somehow still smelled like my brother, years after he’d died.
Or maybe they didn’t. Maybe because Iknewthis stuff was his, my brain was supplying the scent it believed should be here.
Grief was a strange, fierce beast.
“You okay?” Austin asked as he lowered Bishop onto the bed. Onto a rumpled comforter that still smelled like the plastic it had come in, and kind of like Austin himself.
Evidently Bishop had been taking the couch.
“Yeah. Sorry. I just…all this stuff was my brother’s. I’d assumed Stuart would bring furniture from my parents’ old guest room, but…” I shrugged. “He probably had no idea what was what.” He’d never met Ben. Or my parents.
“This isyourstuff?” Austin glanced around the room as he pulled Bishop’s shoes off and let them thunk onto the floor.
“My mom and dad moved to Florida a few years ago. They gave the bar to me and Davey, and they sold their house so they’d have enough to retire on. And their condo came furnished, so…” I shrugged.
“So you stored all their stuff, instead of selling it?”
“Yeah. I mean, I took some of it for my apartment, and Davey took what she wanted. But my dad’s old office couch didn’t make the cut,” I added with a glance through the doorway into the living room.
“That would explain the cigar scent.”
“Sorry. Are you allergic?”
“No. My grandpa smoked them, so it’s like nostalgia for me. Your scent isn’t in the upholstery, though.”
“Yeah, we weren’t allowed in Dad’s office. It was kind of his personal space.”
Austin dropped Bishop’s second boot on the floor. “I had no idea you’d furnished this place with your own stuff. That was very kind, and if I’d realized, I would have thanked you sooner.”
“No need.”
Austin huffed. “I feel like donating your own furniture is above and beyond the duties of the average zone Marshal, so…thank you.”
I’d never been good at accepting thanks graciously, so I just nodded, as Bishop snorted in his sleep and rolled over.
“That’s my fault.” Austin glanced at the bed as he followed me out of the room. “I told him to get lost for a while.”
“Yeah, he mentioned that. He’ll be fine in an hour.” It was a miracle he’d managed to get drunk, and that certainly wouldn’t last long. “He said you hadn’t eaten, so I brought you a burger. Though I’ll understand if you’re tired of them.”
“Not gonna lie, if I’d known you were taking requests, I would have asked for pizza.” Grinning, he reached for the bag.
I pulled it out of his range, one brow arched. “Have you heard the one about beggars and choosers?”
His blue-eyed gaze suddenly intensified, one corner of his mouth ticking up in a quiet smile. “So, you’re going to make me beg?”
The bag crinkled in my grip. I blinked at him, my pulse suddenly a bit unsteady.
“I apologize.” Austin took two steps back. “That was completely out of line.”
“No, it’s fine.” A few of the regulars at work flirted with me occasionally, but none of them meant it. As hard-up as some of them were for female companionship, most of the guys thought of me as an authority figure—a ball-buster—rather than as someone they actually had a chance with. Orwanteda chance with.
Many men—especially shifters—had no personal interest in a woman who outranked them. And for the most part, that was fine with me. I needed to preserve my authority more than I needed to get laid.
At least, that’s what I told myself…
“No, it isn’t okay,” Austin insisted. “I just… Nothing has felt normal for the past three months.” He sat and ran one hand through his thick brown waves. “Yvette wasn’t just my sister. She was my roommate. Myfriend. Nothing feels the same without her here to tell me how I’m fucking everything up.” He sank onto the couch. “But you…”
