Page 292 of Silent Target

“Not like this,” I manage.

Her body goes taut against mine. “Because I'm too young.”

“Because you're living in my house with no other option, and it’s not fair. You don’t have to repay me or feel like…”

“That's still you deciding,” she says against my hair, furious.

I press my mouth to her collarbone once, then lift her back across the console before I lose the argument with myself as well. “It is. Let’s give it a little time.”

I’m a liar. All I want to do is reach for her, right here, and plunge inside her. Hear her moving up and down on my cock, those breathless little moans getting quicker and faster.

She looks at me, then nods, and opens the door abruptly.

Next morning I drop her at the coffee shop early. The rain's blown out and the street's empty. Juliette hops down, then leans back in the open door.

“Well, I couldn’t sleep last night. And from the dark circles under your eyes, neither could you. I’d say this whole taking-our-time arrangement is bad for our health. I’ll leave that with you. We’re making vanilla danishes today; I’ll bring some back.”

She shuts the door on my answer, which is fine, because I didn't have one.

I'm still smiling like an idiot when I clock it: a silver car parked nose-out in front of the shuttered Fix-it Shop, engine off, tinted windows just fogged enough to tell me somebody's breathing inside it. Rental sticker on the bumper.

I memorize the plate and sit watching until it drives away.

Chapter Seven

JULIETTE

Nora teaches me the quirks of the espresso machine like it’s a living thing.

“So, Gina here is Italian… she holds grudges,” Nora says, patting the machine's copper flank. “Too fine a grind and she chokes, too coarse and she gives you dishwater. Let’s try it again.”

I pull shot after shot into a graveyard of little cups. Finally one runs slow and syrupy with a crema like caramel; Nora tastes it, and gives me a big smile. I teach her to make vanilla danishes and the day flashes by quickly. I’m getting to know the regulars and the sweet pace of this small town. Despite the rain, the beauty of the mountains is drawing me in, the changing fall colors a stunning backdrop to everyday life that I miss in the carefully manicured gardens of my parents’ house.

At the end of my shift, Nora counts out my pay and then keeps hold of the envelope for a second.

“Mayla's staying down in High Vale till Christmas at least, helping out her husband’s family. I need mornings covered through the holidays.” She looks at me over her glasses, the same look she gave the buttercream. “The job's yours if you're staying. Are you?”

Bobby's part for the car is coming next week, so I could drive anywhere in America.

“I'm staying,” I say, smiling.

Holt picks me up at two. I climb into the truck smelling of coffee and cinnamon, with a paper bag of danishes.

“Nora offered me mornings through the holidays… I said yes.”

Holt’s hands flex on the wheel. He doesn't say anything all the way up the mountain road. Once we’re at the gate to his property, he reaches over and takes my hand, laces our fingers together on the seat between us, and drives one-handed the rest of the way as a warm glow rises in my chest.

We eat leftovers standing up at the counter. I tell him about the espresso machine's grudges, putting on an Italian accent that makes him laugh.

I wash my hands at the sink, dry them, and turn around.

“Hear me out. You said yesterday we needed to take our time because I was stranded, because I had no other option.”

Holt grips the edge of the counter, his gray eyes steady on me in a way that makes my core clench.

“Well… I have a job. I have wages in cash. Nora says she has a room she’d rent me if I asked. The car's fixed next week. I have many ways out of this cabin, Holt, and I'm standing in your kitchen because it's where I want to be, okay?”

His eyes have gone dark, the gray almost swallowed up in the blackness of his pupils.