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Star Trekmeets Captain America.
Still, his couch was comfortable.
I joined him in the seating area, and because I’d been here often in the last couple months, I felt at enough ease to slip off my sandals and to tuck my feet under my butt.
He eyed me all the while with an intensity that would be unnerving if Aidan weren’t my husband.
"I showed you our text chat," I complained because I knew why he was glowering. "You didn’t show me yours."
"Yours was different than mine."
"How so?"
"Yours was a goodbye. Mine wasn’t."
I studied him. "Maybe she wasn’t saying goodbye to you."
Anger flashed across his expression. "Maybe."
"Whoa," I sputtered halfway through a sip of my iced latte. "What was that about?"
"What was what about?"
I wafted a hand at him. "You got angry."
"Iamangry. If you haven’t figured that out by now, Savannah, you’re not as intelligent as I thought."
Ignoring the insult, I told him, "I know you’re angry at her disappearing, but that was different." How did I verbalize what I’d seen? "That was a response to a specific train of thought."
He scowled at me. "Bullshit."
"It isn't," I sniped. "I’ve seen you get fired up about her leaving since she pulled her disappearing act. But that was specific. What is it? What’s happened?"
I was used to Star going quiet. Conor clearly wasn’t. It was a shitty habit of hers, so I could understand why he was restless.
He surged to his feet and stormed over to his office.
At first, I just thought he was avoiding the conversation entirely, but when he hovered by the door, scowl darker than ever, and demanded, "Well?" I scurried over too.
I peered inside the office that never seemed to change apart from what was on the screens, and I whistled under my breath when I found a couple interesting things on the monitors.
He plunked himself down behind one desk that I knew was his ‘main’ desk, and he beckoned me over, pointing at the screen when I made it to his side.
A video was playing on repeat.
Had he been watching this before my call?
Lodestar was sitting in the very seat he was using now. She wrote something on a note, took a photo of it, placed it in the trash, looked straight at the camera as she did, got to her feet before…
I sighed.
Her hand clutched at the head rest of his desk chair, and upon closing her eyes, the sweetest, purest misery flashed onto her expression.
Grief.
"She has feelings for you," I choked out.
His jaw clenched. "Would she have run away if she did?"
