“Margo?”
I jumped, snapping out of it, my skin on fire. My eyes left Hayes to find Dominic still standing beside me, his dark brow slightly furrowed, head tilted to the side. My stomach plummeted to the floor.
Oh, shit.
Dominic Edwards was the weapons coordinator at Red Snake Investigations. According to Carrie, he was a damn good one, but that wasn’t why I was scared shitless. Dominic also had a doctorate in psychology.
“You okay?” he asked me gently. “You went somewhere else for a minute.”
Yeah, I’m currently drowning in the memories of how one of your best friends gave me the best night of my miserable life and because of that, I’m being forced to face the feelings for him I’d been blissfully ignoring for the last year.
A fake smile, one I’d practiced for an hour in my tiny bathroom mirror, stretched across my face then. “Yes. Sorry, it’s been along day. What were you saying? Something about Seattle?” I rushed out before lifting my glass of white wine to my lips.
Dominic’s indigo eyes flicked to the wineglass and then back up to me. “I asked how your mid-terms went. Carrie mentioned they were today,” he said slowly, his face relaxing again.
My shoulders sagged, the arm of the black sweater dress I convinced myself to wear sliding off the right one. I was too overstimulated to bother with it, trying my best to appear normal, happy, and carefree. “It went very well. One of my professors asked me to be project lead next semester,” I blurted, immediately regretting it.
His handsome face broke into a smile that could rival Hayes’, his perfect white teeth practically shining in the cozy light of Carrie’s living room. “That’s amazing, Margo. Congratulations.”
I shifted on my feet, suddenly uncomfortable. Out of the corner of my eye, Hayes moved, going farther into the living room, holding his hand for Michael to shake. My lips parted as he flashed the sheriff a smile—the same smile he would always give me when he popped into Rossy’s after my kidnapping. Crisp, bright, and groundbreaking. After the first “pop in,” Carrie told me he was just checking on the three of us: me, her, and Sarah. Neither of them knew how much I used to look forward to his smiles, his random check-ins, and his usual coffee order.
Large Americano with three sugars. In a burgundy to-go cup, never white.
Fifteen months ago.
The bell above the door rang, but I was too busy to greet the person entering, my hands flying around the espresso machine, customers impatiently waiting for their orders at the end of the corner. Ten minutes ago, Rossy’s coffee bean grinder jammed after nearly half the town of Astoria’s business district decided it was the perfect time to stop in for their afternoon coffee.
“Welcome to Rossy’s Books!” Sarah called out from the register.
Carrie was somewhere in the stacks, helping a customer find a book on pasta.
“Margo, can you make mine a double shot of espresso? I just got called into a meeting.”
As I got the brews going, I looked at Dave over my shoulder, giving him a single nod. He was the regional manager at our local credit union and the sole reason I was able to get my apartment, helping me figure out how to meet my landlord’s insane credit demands. “Sure thing,” I said, ignoring the glares coming from the two tourists sitting by the pickup station.
“I thought Rossy’s was supposed to be chill,” the blonde said as I poured the second vanilla latte, drizzling the foam in a heart at the top. Eyes on the coffee, I moved to the counter, slapped a lid on it, and slid it over the surface. “Vanilla latte to-go for Brad!” I called, turning back to work without completely registering the new person standing at the counter. Five coffees and a handful of glares later, the last customer at the pickup muttered a hurried “thanks” before scuttling off, and the mid-afternoon rush was finally done. My shoulders sagged as I looked over at the register, silently checking in on Sarah and Carrie. They were chatting with customers and packing books, the chaos now gone. I checked my watch, noting that it was only a quarter past two. We wouldn’t have another push of customers until after school, and tonight was poetry night. It was only the third one, but the last two had both had a good turnout. The locals seemed to like having an opportunity to read their art to one another while Rossy lingered in the shadows with his cup of tea.
Speaking of.
My eyes scanned the store, going to his usual spot by the window, then to the small bench on the back wall. When I found him, my brows snapped together in confusion. What the hell was he doing up there?
Rossy was in the children’s nook, sitting in a hot pink chair at the kids’ table, hunched over his leather journal, his pen sailing across the cream paper. I smirked, shaking my head, knowing that he probably hadn’t even noticed the rush.
“The world could be on fire and that man would still be lost in his manuscript,” I muttered, yanking the towel off my shoulder.
“Glad to see your attitude is still alive and well,” a deep voice drawled.
My eyes cut to the left, finding Mr. Perfect, a.k.a. Grayson’s right hand at Red Snake Investigations. A.k.a. the man who’dsaved my life three months ago. I blinked, and when he didn’t go away, a small smile appeared on his face, blinding me. “Hi, Margo.”
My fingers tightened around the towel, the pads pressing against the soft cotton, damp from spilled coffee. “What are you doing here?” I demanded, feeling exposed under his cold green gaze. His eyes were unlike any shade of green I’d ever seen. Cold and methodical. Alluring. Hypnotizing. The last time we had seen each other, he’d thrown his body over mine, guns literally blazing around us. Though I was pretty sure I was going to die, death had skipped over me and tried its hardest to take Grayson. Hayes had left me on the cold concrete, running toward Carrie’s blood curling scream. I’d lain there, chest heaving, tears running down my temples as I watched Hayes run at full speed, drop to his knees beside Grayson’s blood-covered body, and start CPR. I stayed there until sirens filled the air and Michael came to me. I didn’t see Hayes until a few days later in the hospital. He was on his way to Grayson’s room, and I had just left it, my hands still sticky from the cinnamon rolls I’d made for Cardinal. There had been a shadow looming over him that day, and rightfully so. But when he lifted his eyes from the floor to me, my feet halted in the middle of the hallway. I told him I was sorry and then bolted, unable to handle the pity slapped across his face. My entire life, people looked at me either like I was a burden or like they pitied me.
I couldn’t take pity from him. Not then. Not now. Never.
“I’m here for you,” he answered, his voice steady, bringing me back to the present. His words were soft-spoken but firm, leaving no room for argument.
Ignoring how good that made me feel, I squared my shoulders, the hairs on the back of my neck standing at attention. Hayes Mitchell wasn’t the kind of man who justpopped in unannounced on a whim. No, for a man like him to do anything, he needed a reason, a plan of attack. It seemed like I was his mission today. My heart, the foolish thing, seemed overjoyed, but the last time I’d listened to her, I’d barely made it out alive.
“Why in the hell would you be here for me?” I asked, sneering. It was a good front; one I’d practiced over and over in the mirror. Cold and bitchy. That was how I kept people away. The only people who didn’t seem to fall for it were my coworkers. But they didn’t count.