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Been pulling out my hair all day since leaving her there. Messing up simple tasks in the marina, and reading over paperwork without taking in a single word. Clean forgot to eat lunch—and that’s never happened in my whole life. Not with my appetite.
Cocoa.
No—Yelena.
Well. Whatever her name, I miss her so fucking much.
Shouldn’t have chased her away like that. Should’ve told her sweet-nothings and coaxed her to stay in bed a while longer, then kissed her goodbye on the cliffs. Should’ve handled all this like a human being, but I couldn’t see past the red haze of hurt. The pain constricting my chest. The overridingneedto keep her with me, to change her mind, hell, to break down and beg.
But that wouldn’t be fair to her. And that’s not the memory I want to leave her with.
So I guess I chose being a prick instead.Nicely done, McLaggen.
I’m nervous as a teenager as I pull up to the makeshift parking lot on the cliffs for the second time. Lines and lines of vehicles hunker on the grass—way more than Sweet Cherry Cove could muster alone—and bodies stream between bumpers, laughing and chatting on their way to the tent.
It’s still light out, but the sky’s tinted lilac. The moon’s watching, pearly and bright, and it smells like popcorn and wood smoke. The evening’s fine.
My hand shakes as I smooth down my shirt.
This is nuts. I shouldn’t have come here—I know that. Should leave Co—Yelenabehind in a clean break. And I definitely shouldn’t have ironed my best shirt, or trimmed my beard, or brought a bouquet of red roses. That’s not helping anyone.
Still, I slam my truck closed and set off across the grass, the paper wrapping of my bouquet crinkling. Some of the faces around me are familiar from town; plenty aren’t. But they’reallstretched into excited grins, young and old.
The circus.
Figures my girl came from the circus. She’s so wild, so vibrant, so free. Figures that circus folk and cops don’t get on super well, too. Another mystery solved.
The crowd flows into the big top tent through the front entrance, and I let myself get swept along in that current. But as I reach the doorway, someone grabs my elbow and tugs me out of line.
It’s the redheaded guy from earlier. The flirty one. He’s bare chested now, dressed in leather pants with body glitter smeared over his pecs. His smile reminds me of a fox—cunning and cool.
“Yelena’s this way, Mr McLaggen.”
Well, what else is there to do except follow him? My steps are muffled by the thick grass, and my hand sweats where it grips the bouquet.
“Is she alright?”
The redhead laughs, tossing his hair. His hips sway as he leads me around the side of the tent, crossing to a much smaller tent, tucked away in the shadows. The canvas is plain white, held up by a tall central pole.
“We rehearse in here sometimes,” my guide explains, throwing the words over his shoulder. “Or use it for parties. But tonight, it’s all yours.”
All mine? “Where’s—”
When I reach the doorway, a strong hand shoves against my back. The canvas flaps fall shut behind me, and I’m left in darkness. My breaths are loud, and the air smells like damp soil.
“Yelena?”
A spotlight thunks on high above, cutting a single beam of light to the ground. In the center of the beam, a rickety old chair waits on the grass, and two strips of white silk dangle above.
“It’s Cocoa.” Her voice sends a shiver up my spine. I peer around, but the shadows are empty. “Sit down, Mac.”
Takes a second to make my limbs work, then I stumble forward, bouquet paper crinkling in my fist.
“Oh,” Cocoa says softly. Seriously, whereisshe? “You brought me roses.”
The chair creaks as I sit. “Should I put them somewhere?”
“Maybe tuck them under your chair. I don’t want to flatten them.”
