And in the stillness of the summer night, it felt like a promise neither of them dared to name.
CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO
Across town,Declanlocked the door of the veterinary clinic, turning the brass key until the heavy click echoed through the empty reception area.Theday’s smells still lingered faintly.Antisepticand lavender floor cleaner, the faint musk of anxious dogs.Theclinic was quiet now, just the hum of the refrigerator in the back keeping vaccines cool, and the occasional settling groan of the old building.
He leaned his shoulder against the door for a moment, staring out atMainStreet.Thesun had set completely, leaving the sky a soft wash of indigo, the streetlamps throwing hazy circles of light on the cracked sidewalk.Acouple of kids rode by on bikes, their laughter trailing behind them before fading into the quiet that always seemed to settle overPickwickBendafter dark.
Declan slipped his stethoscope into the drawer, then sank into the chair behind his desk, letting the leather creak under him.Heshould’ve been reviewing tomorrow’s cases.Twospay surgeries, a dog with chronic allergies, a goat someone was hauling in from the edge of the county.Buthis mind was a thousand miles away.Or, more precisely, across town.
Rose.
He rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling slowly.
He kept circling back to the conversation withBrianathe night before.
She was slick.Confident.Everyword she spoke had felt like it was chosen with the precision of a scalpel.Sharpenough to cut, careful enough to leave him bleeding without realizing until too late.Shehadn’t needed to spell anything out.Thatwas the trick of it.She’ddropped just enough ambiguity into the air, like smoke curling between them, making it impossible to see clearly.
And it wasn’t just what she’d said.Itwas the way she carried herself.Likeshe was used to controlling the room.Likeshe could see the weak spots in people and press a thumb right against them.
Declan had met his fair share of confident people.Bigcity surgeons who strutted like gods, clients who thought money bought them knowledge.ButBriana’sconfidence was different.Itwasn’t loud.Itwas coiled.Likeshe knew the right moment would come, and when it did, she’d strike.
And the worst part?
She clearly had a past withRose.
One she wasn’t denying.Oneshe wasn’t clarifying either.
Declan drummed his fingers on the desk, jaw tightening.
He didn’t like being used.
But what sat heavier in his chest was the way he kept thinking aboutRoseanyway.Theway her laughter carried just a little louder when she forgot to be careful with herself.Theway her whole face lit up when she talked about her team at the coffee shop.Hersecond family, the thing she’d built with her own hands.Theway she always seemed perched right on the edge between punching someone and forgiving them, and how damn compelling that balance was.
He wasn’t the jealous type.Notnormally.Jealousyfelt like wasted energy, like a younger man’s game.Butthis wasn’t about jealousy, not exactly.Itwas about territory.Andbelonging.Andthe strange pull that had taken root in him since he first set foot in this town and looked across the street to seeRoseMcAllistersmiling at someone else.
He knew he was the newcomer, the outsider.Thatwas a label stamped on him whether he liked it or not.Butbeing the outsider didn’t mean he was just going to roll over and watch someone else swoop in.
Especially not someone with history and an apology smile.
AcenWheeler.
Declan’s jaw ticked again.
History was powerful.Sometimesunfairly so.AndDeclancouldn’t compete with the fact thatAcenandRosehad grown up together, had a thousand little memories layered between them like bricks in a wall.Buthe also knew that walls could trap as much as they protected.Andfrom the looks ofRoselately, she wasn’t sure whether to lean againstAcen’swall or start knocking bricks down with her bare fists.
Declan leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling.
He had time.
And patience.
But he also had a hunch that this whole thing—Acen,Briana,Rose’sguarded hopefulness—was more tangled than it looked from the outside.
And tangled things?
Eventually snapped.
The rap of knuckles against the glass front door startled him out of his thoughts.Sharp, insistent.Declanglanced at the clock—just after seven.Toolate for a client, and too early for trouble.
