Page 108

“A coffee?” Tyler said it as though I’d suggested a three-course meal.

I kept a smile on my face. “We can have a coffee together like civilized adults, can’t we?”

“Maybe.”

“Look,” I said, mentally preparing myself to lie through my teeth. “I haven’t been friendly to you recently, but you’ve got to admit I’ve had good reason. What with the rehab thing, then Remy, then the house…” I deliberately made myself sound bored. “We can either carry on like that or declare a truce.”

Tyler glanced toward the pile of his belongings.

I followed his gaze. “You can check that everything is there, if you want.”

He laughed. “No need.”

“You just seem worried something might be missing.”

A muscle ticked in his cheek, and his subsequent shrug seemed stiff. “I’m sure you don’t want to keep anything of mine as a memento.”

“I don’t.”

Tyler cleared his throat and then nodded as if he’d reached a decision. “I can do coffee.”

Was it a good sign that he wasn’t hell-bent on getting rid of me as quickly as possible, or was I simply looking for glimmers of light in a nightmare where none existed? I supposed time would tell once I’d lulled him into a false sense of security.

He led me into the kitchen, and I feigned fascination with a set of patterned plates before taking a seat at the small table. “I assume you can remember how I take it?”

He laughed. “Yeah, I think so. I made you numerous cups over the years.”

“You did,” I agreed.

I stared at my hands while he made the coffee. The ice encasing me from head to foot made then feel as if they belonged to someone else.

“For what it’s worth,” Tyler said as the coffeemaker finished percolating and he poured the coffee into two mugs, “I admit that I acted like a dick.”

“Like a dick?”

“You know, Remy, rehab, the…” He let out a laugh. “I was going to say the house, but we may as well make it the three Rs and call it the residence.”

“Right.”

And are you sorry for anything else?

I thought it, but I didn’t say it. There was a right time to accuse your ex-boyfriend of being involved in your mother’s death, and it didn’t feel like we’d reached it yet.

“How’s your house-hunting going?”

That set Tyler off on a long rant about London landlords and the ridiculous prices they charged for tiny properties. I stopped listening after the first couple of minutes. Instead, I sipped my coffee, thanked the numbness for preventing me from leaping across the table and attacking him, and occasionally made agreeable noises while I pondered the more important questions that had brought me here.

Was Tyler capable of knowing the truth about what had happened to my mother and hiding it for months? Less than a month ago, I would have said no. Now… I wasn’t so sure.

“So, yeah,” Tyler said. “It’s not been fun. I’ll find somewhere eventually, though.”

“Good,” I said, my delivery less than convincing.

He sat back in his seat. “We should talk about that creature.”

“Should we?” My voice was flat.

“Well, yeah. I’m worried about you.”