She blushes, a pretty pink that spreads across her cheeks. “I’m not that good. Just lucky tonight.”
“Sometimes luck is all you need,” I say, my eyes tracing the line of her jaw, the curve of her neck.
She shifts her weight, looking uncomfortable. “I should probably let someone else have a turn.”
“Nonsense,” I say, gesturing to the table. “I was just admiring your technique. Mind if I watch?”
She hesitates, then nods, turning back to the table. “If you want.”
She lines up another shot, her movements sure and confident. There’s something about her, something quiet and unassuming, that draws me in. I want to know more about her, to understand what makes her tick.
“How long have you been in Willowbrook?” I ask, trying to make conversation.
“A few months,” she says, her focus still on the game. “I like it here. It’s… different from where I used to live.”
“Different how?” I prompt, genuinely curious.
She pauses, considering her answer. “Quieter. More… magical. Not just the Rift stuff, but the people. They feel more real here.”
I nod, understanding what she means. Willowbrook has a way of getting under your skin, of becoming a part of you whether you want it to or not.
“It grows on you,” I agree. “Like moss. Or a fungus.”
She laughs, a soft, musical sound that makes my chest tighten. “Something like that.”
We fall into an easy conversation, talking about the town, about books, about the strange and wonderful things that make Willowbrook what it is. She’s smart and funny, with a dry wit that catches me off guard. The more I talk to her, the more I want to know.
“I should probably get going,” she says finally, glancing at the clock over the bar. “Early start tomorrow.”
“Already?” I ask, disappointment washing over me. “The night’s still young.”
She smiles, but it’s tinged with sadness. “I’m not much of a night owl.”
“Can I walk you home?” I offer, before I can stop myself.
She hesitates, then nods. “I’d like that.”
“Great,” I say, my heart pounding. “Just let me use the restroom first, and then we can go.”
“Okay,” she agrees. “I’ll be here.”
I make my way through the crowd, my mind racing with possibilities. Celeste. Her name feels right on my tongue, like I’ve known it forever.
As I approach the restroom, Beckett steps in front of me, blocking my path. “Whoa there, cowboy. What do you think you’re doing?”
“What do you mean?” I ask, trying to sidestep him.
He moves with me, his expression serious. “With Celeste. What are you doing?”
“Talking to her,” I say, my patience wearing thin. “What’s it look like?”
“It looks like you’re forgetting something important,” he says. “Something about a certain someone you’re supposedly bonded to.”
What the hell is he talking about?
“What?”
He looks at me like I’m stupid before saying, “Caroline?”
