“Not until you listen to what I have to say.”
“I think I’ve heard enough.”
“And I think,” he said, walking toward me with slow steps. “You’re just proving my point. Repeating your pattern.”
“How’s that?”
“Pushing away anyone who tries to get close. Anyone who tries to really know you.” His eyes flickered briefly to the room behind me. “You don’t like me in here. Your inner sanctum. Your safe space. The only place you can really rest. Why is that?”
“Maybe I just don’t like you.”
“Or maybe you like me so much, it makes you avoid me like the plague.”
I shot him an incredulous look. “Do you even hear yourself? You’re delusional. Truly. If anyone here needs psycho-analysis, it’s you. Get a consult. Tell them you’ve got a raging case of undiagnosed narcissistic personality disorder and a propensity for arrogance the likes of which no one has ever seen!”
“Is it arrogance if I’m right?”
“Can you please just leave already?” I shot him a death-glare. “You’ve done your security sweep. Unless you want to check for feral dust bunnies in the basement, I’d say I’m safe enough.”
He stared at me, stone-faced. Unmoving.
“Go! I mean it,” I snapped. “I need to get to the store.”
“The store can wait.”
Ugh!
I curled my hands into fists. “That’s not your decision to make. You’re not my boss or my boyfriend. Hell, you’re not even my friend. Now,please, get out of here. Or I’ll call Detective Caden Hightower and have you removed.”
The words hit him like a bucket of ice water. My mouth snapped closed with a click as I watched him flinch, like I’d struck him again. I swallowed down the guilt that flared through me and tried not to fidget under the weight of his intense glare. He stood there for a long beat, arms crossed over his chest, taking long drags of air through his nose — as if he was striving to calm himself. The muscle in his cheek was ticking rhythmically as his jaw clenched and unclenched. I’d never seen him so worked up.
It took a few moments but, eventually, he regained control — the fury bled out of his eyes and they returned to their typical icy indifference. His expression smoothed, all traces of frustration disappearing between one breath and the next. His fists unclenched. His jaw unlocked. His arms fell to his sides.
Without another word, he turned on his cool-as-shit leather boots and stalked out my door. I listened to him thud down the stairs and waited for the crash of the front door. Only it didn’t come. In the silence, I heard a heavy sigh, followed immediately by a shout that made me jump about three feet off the ground.
“Lock the damn door!”
And then, with a slam, he was gone.
* * *
Three and a half hours later,I dragged my half-dead carcass through the front door of The Gallows. The bell chimed merrily overhead. I glared at it, resentful. My head was pounding from lack of sleep — and, quite possibly, from the altercation with Graham. Fury still sizzled through my veins, hot as lava.
“Nice of you to show up, boss,” Hetti called from behind the espresso machine. “It’s like the tenth circle of Hell in here.”
“There are only nine.”
“According to who?Dante?” She snorted. “What the fuck did he know about anything?”
Near her elbow, at least six paper to-go cups were lined up, awaiting their caffeinated confections. A line of customers four people deep crowded the counter, impatient to place their own orders. Every table in the front section was at capacity. Even the espresso bar was jammed, a cluster of giggling preteen girls taking selfies with their frappuccinos occupying the space usually populated by students with laptops.
My eyes scanned deeper into the shop, past the busy shelves where people perused our eclectic book selection, around the display of colorful incense sticks, over the ever-popular essential oils table, down the short flight of steps into the mystical curiosities section, where Flo was manning the secondary cash register. She was busy chatting with a customer as she loaded a set of creepy, corn-husk poppet dolls into a bag with black tissue paper. When I managed to catch her eye, she shot me a reassuring wink and a wave to let me know she had things under control.
“Sorry I’m late,” I told Hetti, rushing around the back side of the counter.
“Are you wearing jeans?”
The alarmed note in my barista’s voice made me glance down at my outfit. I’d been far too tired to conjure my typical outfit-armor today. I was in an ancient pair of faded Levis I’d owned since my teenage years and a light blue babydoll t-shirt that proclaimed I’M WITH SATAN in capital letters.