Dominic rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. We all know you’ve got that magical little bussy that defies science, logic, and God herself. But maybe don’t test its limits on date night.”
“Ugh, Dom…thatword should be a slur,” I groan.
He ignores my dramatic dry-heaving, steering toward the checkout line, with or without me. “Oh, come on,” he calls over his shoulder, “you know you secretly love it, Sugar Buss.”
We check out, bags rustling between us as we walk to the car. On the drive back, Dom hums smugly to a playlist I remember putting together for his last birthday. By the time he drops me off, my palms are sweaty and my heart rate feels faster than it should.
Which is how I end up standing outside Harlow and Sons Funeral Home, inexplicably nervous and trying to remember how breathing works. I steel myself before pushing through the heavy wooden door.
A woman behind the desk looks up. Silver hair styled, suit immaculate. She radiates authoritative amusement and I can’t tell if I should be terrified or ask her to be my best friend.
“Levi Wilder,” she says, one brow arched. “Showing up unannounced. Bold choice.”
I flush at the fact she knows me by name. “Um, yes. I was actually just hoping to see Hayden?”
She gestures vaguely toward an office door. “Make yourself comfortable. He’ll be delighted,” she deadpans, which is code for the opposite.
I hesitate. “Are you sure he won’t mind?”
“Oh, he’ll mind,” she says, turning back to her paperwork. “That’s half the fun.”
I bite back a laugh and slip into his office. It’s…empty, just as I remember. Plain, orderly, entirely impersonal. Pure Hayden. Except for one detail.
A single dried white lily rests on the windowsill, stubbornly present.
My breath catches. It’s the one I gave him. In this pristine, impersonal room, he kept it. That has to mean something. I brush a finger against it, a thrill racing up my spine. Maybe aloof isn’t indifferent. Maybe it’s armor.
The hair on my arms lifts before I realize why. It’s probably the old funeral home vents, but the temperature in Hayden’s office drops a degree, and from the corner of my eye, a flicker of shadows ripple softly, pooling as though darkness itself is holding its breath. It happens so fast I could laugh it off, chalk it up to imagination or bad lighting. Too fast to be real. Except…I saw it.
I know I did.
My pulse skitters up my throat, caught somewhere betweenThat’s weirdandDo not investigate the creepy corner, you idiot.
Before I can dwell any further, the door creaks open.
I turn sharply, pulse still racing, as Hayden steps into the room. He’s in his usual all black, coat draped elegantly like he stepped out of some gothic novel. Born for low light and well-tailored clothes. The room’s shadows seem to settle the second he appears, because apparently, I now hallucinate ambiance when he walks into a room.
A slim leather folio hangs from his hand, edges bent like he’s been clutching it all morning. City hall, I realize silently. The building might as well have a reserved parking spot for him by now.
His gaze shifts from me to the window where I’d just been standing, then his eyes return, unreadable, to mine.
“Well,” he says, voice low, edged in quiet amusement, “I wasn’t expecting to find you in here.”
“And yet,” I say lightly, “here I am.”
He exhales dramatically, crossing the room deliberately. “To what do I owe this…pleasure?”
“I wanted to invite you to something.”
“Now why does that sound vaguely threatening?” he murmurs, stepping closer. Close enough that I notice the sharp line of his jaw, the quiet confidence in his posture.
“Only if you hate glitter and objectively questionable life choices,” I tease. “We throw this anti-Valentine’s party every year. Black hearts, bitter cocktails, possible regrets.”
He tilts his head slightly. “Sounds delightful.”
I roll my eyes, suddenly feeling my heart squeeze in my chest. “Maybe it’s not your usual scene,” I admit, taking a careful breath, “but I’d really love it if you came.”
Hayden leans back against the edge of his desk, hands braced on the polished wood. He studies me with a quiet intensity, eyes narrowing just slightly. “Why?”
