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Enough.
She pushed back from the table, gathering the remnants of her meal.
She had a badge. A job. And more than enough complications of her own.
She did not have time to chase fleeting, inconvenient happiness.
Especially with a man far too decent for her.
*
Felicity knew something was wrong the second the kitchen stayed quiet.
No reassuring gurgle. No hiss of steam. No blessed, life-giving smell of coffee.
She stared at the coffee maker like betrayal might reverse itself if she applied enough pressure. Pressed the button again. Nothing. The digital clock blinked 12:00, smug and useless. “You have one job,” she muttered.
Five minutes later, she was out the door, keys in hand, hair still damp. The sun was barely up, the buildings wrapped in that pale, forgiving light that made everything look softer than it really was. She did not feel soft. She felt hollowed out and cranky and one bad interaction away from snapping at a civilian.
Mood foul, she pulled into the parking lot of the only place in town open at this early hour. The bell over the door jingled as she stepped inside, greeted by warmth and the smell of fresh coffee. She was fishing bills out of her pocket when she collided with something solid.
“Damn—”
A strong hand caught her by the elbow before she could stumble back.
“Whoa,” a voice said, amused and entirely too awake for this hour. “Careful there, Deputy.”
Felicity looked up.
Ronan stood in front of her, coffee cup in one hand, its lid still firmly in place, the other steadying her. He was dressed in a work shirt, faded jeans, hair still damp like he, too, had just stepped out of the shower. Clean. Put together. Alert.
Chipper.
At six-fucking-thirty in the damn morning.
She stepped back, shrugging off his touch. “Watch it.”
His mouth twitched. “Pretty sure you ran into me.”
“Pretty sure you were in my way.”
“That so?” His eyes flicked to the wide-open space around him, then back to her. “Place is pretty crowded.”
She clenched her jaw. Of course he had jokes. Of course he looked rested. Of course he smelled faintly like soap and coffee and something spicy.
“Just get your coffee and move.”
He took a sip from his cup, unbothered. “Already got it. You look like you could use one, though.”
She shot him a glare sharp enough to draw blood. “I’m fine.”
“Mmhmm.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Your eye’s twitching.”
“It is not.”
“It definitely is.”
She turned toward the counter. “Black. No room.” She snapped out her order to the barista, whose curious gaze flicked between her and Ronan. Great. More gossip.
