Page 39

"You're impossible."

"Yes, and you've known that since college. Now finish your dinner, get some rest, and remember that you're allowed to want something without letting anybody else make the decisions."

We talked for a few more minutes about ordinary things—her plans for the week, the decorations still covering half of Witch Harbor, and a particularly unfortunate photograph from the masquerade in which her witch's hat had nearly obscured an entire table of guests.

By the time we said goodnight, I was feeling considerably more like myself.

I carried my bowl to the kitchen and rinsed it beneath the warm water. Through the window, I could see the lights of the shops along the street. Most of the Halloween displays were coming down, leaving empty hooks and bare window frames where elaborate arrangements of pumpkins and black lace had hung only a few days earlier.

I stood there for a while, watching a woman walk past with a little dog tugging enthusiastically at its leash.

I could no longer avoid making my own decision.

Cillian had crossed an extraordinary boundary to reach me. I couldn't pretend that was romantic simply because his reasons involved wanting to be with me. He'd looked into possibilities that belonged to my life without asking, and he'd admitted doing it because he wanted something he wasn't entitled to take.

But if he'd been able to control what I wanted, why had I refused his invitation to coffee?

I'd wanted to go. I remembered that perfectly well. I'd thought about the invitation afterward, imagined sitting across from him somewhere other than a conference room, and wondered what his mouth would feel like against mine.

Then I'd told him no.

He'd accepted it.

At the Grand, I'd approached a stranger because I found him fascinating. I'd liked his humor, his confidence, and the way he seemed genuinely delighted to be talking to me.

And when I'd discovered what he'd concealed, I'd walked out of his loft.

He certainly hadn't managed to make me agreeable.

I dried my hands and returned to the living room. The paperback on my side table caught my attention as I passed. I'd been reading it before Halloween, enjoying its gloomy old estate, mysterious inheritance, and brooding hero who apparently couldn't manage an honest conversation if his life depended on it.

I picked it up and glanced at the cover.

At least the poor heroine only had an ancestral curse to worry about. I wondered what she'd have made of a fallen angel with a talent for cybersecurity.

Probably something dramatic involving a storm, a ruined castle, and an unfortunate number of sleepless nights.

I put the book down again.

My life was already dramatic enough.

I'd been drawn to Cillian long before I knew about his wings or the laws he'd broken.

At work, he'd listened when I spoke, particularly when everyone else was busy talking over one another. And at the Grand, he'd made me laugh when I'd been determined to enjoy one evening without worrying about appearances.

And I wanted to know him better.

Not the mysterious stranger I'd met at the Grand, and not the impossible creature who'd stood in his loft with enormous black feathers rising behind him.

I wanted Cillian Rook.

I'd made my professional rule for sensible reasons. Dating someone connected to work could be awkward, especially in an office where discretion mattered. But Cillian wasn't a Harbor & Main employee. He'd been brought in for a temporary assignment, and the final assessment work had been completed that afternoon.

I could maintain appropriate boundaries at work without allowing a short consulting contract to determine my entire romantic life.

As for what my parents might think, I was twenty-nine years old. I loved them, respected them, and had no intention of arranging my future around their preferred guest list for Christmas dinner.

Besides, my mother had once told me that a man's manners mattered far more than his appearance.