“Cancel it.”
“I can’t cancel a meeting with the fire chief because of rain. He’ll think I’m made of sugar.”
“Reschedule, then.”
“To when? I’m booked solid until Thursday.” She peeled a wet strand of hair off her forehead. “I’ll just go like this. The drowned-rat look is very professional.”
He took off his jacket. It was dry—he’d made it under the awning before the worst of it. He held it out.
She looked at the jacket. At him. Back at the jacket.
“That’s very chivalrous.”
“It’s practical. You’re cold.”
“How do you know I’m cold?”
“You’re shivering.”
She was. She took the jacket and pulled it on over her wet blouse. It was too big—the shoulders drooped past hers, the sleeves covered her hands. She rolled the cuffs twice, then tucked her chin into the collar and breathed in.
She didn’t say what she smelled. She didn’t have to. He watched her face soften, watched the tension in her shoulders ease, and felt something crack open in his chest that he’d been keeping sealed shut for a very long time.
“Better?”
“Much.” She looked up at him from inside the jacket’s collar. Her eyes were bright, rain-washed. “You realize Izzy can see us from the flower shop window.”
He glanced across the street. The flower shop’s lights were on, and through the glass, he could see Izzy at the counter, watching them with naked interest.
“She’s going to tell Delia.”
“Delia’s going to tell everyone.”
“And that doesn’t bother you?”
Lila pulled his jacket tighter around her. “Two weeks ago, it would have. I had a very clear policy about not giving this town anything to gossip about.” She paused. The rain drummed on the awning above them, steady and loud. “But two weeks ago, I was trying to do everything alone. And you know what alone got me? An office full of stolen files.”
“Lila—”
“I’m not saying this is smart. I’m saying I’m tired of smart.” She reached out and adjusted the collar of his shirt, which had gotten twisted when he took off the jacket. A small, domestic gesture. Intimate in its casualness. “Let Izzy watch. Let Delia talk. I’d rather be warm in your jacket and gossiped about than cold and alone and perfectly proper.”
The rain was beginning to ease. Sunlight broke through the clouds in shafts, hitting the wet street and turning it to silver. The whole town glittered, dripping and new.
“Keep the jacket,” he said.
“I was planning to.”
She stepped out from under the awning into the last of the rain, his jacket wrapped around her, and walked toward the town hall without looking back. Her shoes squelched on the wet sidewalk. She left a trail of footprints that the sun would erase in minutes.
He watched her go. Watched until she disappeared through the town hall doors. Watched for a while after that, because the image of her in his jacket was something he wanted to remember clearly. Every detail. The way the sleeves hung past her fingers. The way she’d tucked her chin into the collar and breathed in.
His phone buzzed. He ignored it.
Whatever Caleb needed could wait five minutes.
Sarge's Sandbar was more crowded than the last time he'd been there. A group of fishermen occupied the corner booth, loudly debating something about bait. A young couple sat at the bar, leaning into each other. An older man with weathered skin and sharp eyes sat alone near the window, nursing a whiskey.
Mitch was already there, at the same spot along the bar where they'd met before. He raised a hand in greeting as Ronan approached.
