Page 38

“But I can’t just—”

“Phineas.” I waited until his eyes met mine again. “You showed up at my café smelling like whiskey and flinching at shadows. You’ve been running on empty so long you’ve forgotten what a full tank feels like. Let someone fill it for once. Let me fill it.”

His face crumpled. Fresh tears spilled over, but these were different—less fear, more relief. The kind of crying that came when you finally set down a weight you’d been carrying so long your arms had forgotten how to rest.

“Okay,” he whispered.

The puppy took that moment to lick his chin, and Phineas let out a startled, watery laugh. He scrubbed at his face with one hand then gathered the dog closer, holding her like she was the only solid thing in a world that had just tilted on its axis.

I pushed myself to my feet, ignoring the protest in my knees from sitting on hardwood too long, and held out my hand.

“Let me help you up.”

Phineas looked at my hand for a long moment. Then he took it. His grip was still trembling, but it was there, and that was enough. I pulled him upright, steadying him when he swayed on his feet. The puppy danced around us, apparently having decided the crisis was over and playtime could resume.

We were still standing there, Phineas leaning into my shoulder with the dog winding figure-eights between us, when footsteps sounded in the hallway.

Spencer appeared in the kitchen archway, looking rumpled in sleepwear and a T-shirt that probably belonged to Crowbar. His hair stuck up at odd angles, and he was blinking like the morning light personally offended him.

“Didn’t I tell you to wait for me, Noodles?” He stopped, taking in the scene. Phineas, blotchy-faced and clinging to me. The puppy, now on her back begging for belly rubs.

Spencer’s gaze landed on Phineas, and something flickered across his expression.

“Oh,” Spencer said, his voice softening. “Hey. I remember you from the pet store.”

Beside me, the last of the tension drained out of Phineas’ body. His weight settled more fully against my side, and when I glanced down at his face, the fear had receded, replaced by something cautious but hopeful.

“You remember me?” Phineas said, barely above a whisper.

“’Course I remember you.” Spencer ambled into the kitchen, heading straight for the coffee maker with the unerring instinct of a man who hadn’t had his caffeine yet. “You spent twenty minutes sitting on the floor with the rescue cats. The mean tabby that hates everybody let you scratch behind his ears. I told Crowbar about it. The store has been trying to get that cat adopted for six months.”

Phineas made a soft, surprised sound. “He wasn’t mean. He was just misunderstood.”

“That’s what I said.” Spencer poured himself a mug, added a splash of creamer, and turned to lean against the counter. His eyes moved between me and Phineas, sharp despite his sleep-rumpled appearance. “You staying for breakfast?”

“He’s staying,” I said before Phineas could answer for himself. “For a while.”

“Cool.” Spencer disappeared back down the hallway.

Phineas turned to look up at me. The red was fading from his eyes, and the trembling had stopped. He still looked like hell, but it was a softer kind of hell now.

“He remembered me,” Phineas said quietly.

“’Course he did.” I squeezed him gently. “You’re a memorable guy.”

Chapter Twelve

Phineas

I’d lost my ever-loving mind and didn’t care. I should. Ben was not a man you crossed, and I’d just given up on our relationship. I was done being his prisoner. Drift had shown me what freedom felt like, and once I remembered my life before Ben, I wanted it back.

Knowing Ben would look for me at work, I called off. After I charged my phone.

Now I was lying in Drift’s bed again, except this time he was right next to me.

My steady rock. My Croissant Man. The guy I should’ve been with instead of Ben.

I traced a lazy pattern over his bicep, needing the contact.