Cinder sighed heavily, and for the first time, he realized her head rested on his knee. She wasn’t the cuddling kind of dog, usually preferring to keep her distance. But now she was pressed close, as if sensing his need for connection. He set the phone down and rested his hand on her head. Her fur was warm and soft under his fingers as she stroked her ear.
Her tail swished on the floor.
The Hub was still dark, still silent except for the hum of the servers… but it didn’t feel like a cage anymore.
fourteen
Naomi wasn’tsure what to expect when she saw Ghost again. After his flash of vulnerability on the phone last night, she honestly didn’t know what their next conversation would—or even should—sound like.
Would he want to continue on like it never happened? Or would he actually let himself admit something had changed?
She pulled into a parking space on Main Street across from Foster’s office at 7:58 a.m. and scanned for one of the Valor Ridge trucks. It was there, black and glossy, parked halfway down the street by Nessie’s Place.
Ghost leaned against the hood of his truck, wearing jeans and a hoodie, and the same battered canvas jacket as always, his hands jammed in the pockets. His charcoal gray cowboy hat was pulled down low against the light drizzle of rain, hiding his eyes, but she could still feel his attention on her like a physical touch.
Her stomach jittered with nerves.
“Okay,” she breathed and cut the engine. “Here we go.”
If Ghost wanted to deflect, she’d let him. If he wanted to acknowledge the late-night phone call—the blue mug, the bones-deep sorrow riding under his voice, the way she’d ached to reachthrough the darkness and hold him together with her bare hands—she’d let him do that too.
She just needed him in her orbit today. And maybe she should be concerned with how important he’d become to her in the last week, but she wasn’t ready to examine that yet.
She stepped out into the chill and was met with a gust of wind that knifed straight through her.
Shit. She should have opted for an actual jacket instead of the puffer vest.
The sky was a slab of gunmetal, clouds pressing low, the air sharp enough to sting her cheeks. It was going to snow before Halloween. She could smell it in the air.
Ghost peeled off the hood of his truck and fell into step beside her, all silent threat and that coiled, unreadable energy.
He didn’t say anything. Didn’t ask if she’d slept, or if she’d been up half the night thinking about broken mugs and old wounds. He just handed her a to-go coffee, so hot it nearly burned her palm. His hand brushed her knuckles as he did it. Not an accident. Ghost didn’t do anything by accident.
Her pulse spiked. She covered it by blowing across the coffee and taking a sip.
“Foster’s not here yet,” Ghost said, voice flat.
She glanced across the street. The office was dark. Shades drawn. Not even a flicker of movement behind the glass.
“Typical,” she muttered. “Guy makes his own hours and expects the world to wait.”
“Or he knows you want to talk to him and he’s avoiding you.”
“Wouldn’t be the first. Won’t be the last.” She shrugged. “He’s got to show up at some point. You want to stake it out from here, or…?”
He was silent for a moment, his gaze on the office, then he turned to her and plucked the coffee cup from her hand. Before she could snatch it back, he popped the lid off and dumped it.
“Hey!”
He discarded the now-empty cup in a nearby trash can and jerked his chin toward Nessie’s Place. “Nessie is finally open again. We can get better coffee and breakfast while we wait.”
“Are you serious?” She slanted him a look. “You, in a cafe full of locals and gossip?”
His mouth twitched. “I’m not completely allergic to civilization.”
Her stupid heart skipped again at that almost smile, and she suddenly, desperately wanted to see a real smile from him. Would it soften the harsh lines of his face or make him look even more dangerous?
She kind of wanted both.
