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I groan and try again.
Me
You and Miley still argue over who gets to lick the bowl?
I hit send and share the picture, waiting for thedeliverednotification to pop up beneath the blue bubble on the phone, curious to see if it changes toreadanytime soon.
They always do.
Sometimes it’s minutes. Sometimes it’s days. But Hazel always reads them. My texts. And it doesn’t matter if she never responds because I’ll always keep sending them no matter what.
Always.
9
KATE
Shit, it’s cold.
I tug my coat tighter around me. The frigid wind cuts through it like an ice pick. It’s darker too. I look up at the gray, angry clouds hanging heavy in the sky and pick up my pace toward the house. It was stupid of me to walk here, but I was craving something warm and sweet and gooey to take away my loneliness, and cookie dough sounded like the perfect choice.
Running into Macklin was unexpected. He wasn’t the warm and sweet I was looking for, but his invitation still melted my insides in exactly the right way. At least it did before I remembered I’m not looking for…whatever the hell keeps happening whenever he pops up.
I fold my arms and quicken my pace, walking along the side of the road as an angry clap of thunder reverberates from the sky and into my bones. My body jerks at the deafening sound, but I keep my head down when a dark SUV pulls up beside me.
Fear claws its way up my throat as theDatelineheadlines flash through my mind of Kate Winchester’s disappearance. The window rolls down, revealing a shadowed figure behind the steering wheel.
“Hey, do you need a––Porcupine?” the low voice rumbles.
The dashboard lights up Mack’s familiar features, and I let out a sigh of relief.
Not a murderer.Noted.
“Hi,” I answer, putting my head down and continuing my hurried walk along the street.
With the window still rolled down, Mack’s SUV follows me. “What the hell are you doing walking home?”
Another clap of thunder makes me jump.
“Get in the car,” he orders.
“It’s fine,” I yell back. “I think the rain will hold until I make it––”
“Get in the car, Kate.”
Resisting the urge to defy him, I march closer to Mack’s car. With the cookie dough clutched in one hand, I yank the door open, climb inside, and tug off my hood as Mack pulls back onto the road. But it’s weird. Because for the first time since we’ve met, he isn’t chatty. Nope. He’s silent.
I peek at his hands on the steering wheel. They’re tight, showcasing the veins along the back of his hands and on his wrists before disappearing beneath his black coat.
“I really was fine walking,” I start.
“Why were you walking in the first place?” he demands. There’s a sharpness in his tone. One I’ve never heard.
I lean away from him, unsure how to handle the new, not-so-golden-retriever-y guy beside me.
“It’s nine o’clock at night, Kate. It’s dark. Cold. The clouds look ready to burst at any second––”
“I told you I was craving cookie dough,” I interrupt.
