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She hesitated for a moment before unlocking the window and pushing it open a crack. “What?”
“Hey,” he said like she hadn’t just snapped at him. “I’m hungry.”
“I’m not feeding you.”
“Okay.” He seemed unperturbed by that fact. “Do you want to go get food in town?”
“No.” Veronica looked at the Doberman sitting patiently beside him. Rebel’s gaze was sharp and direct and intimidating as hell. “And I’m still not taking the dog, so don’t even ask.”
“That’s fine. I’ve decided you can’t have her. She’s my new writing partner.”
“Writing partner?”
Conn grinned, showing off those deep dimples under the layer of scruff covering his jaw. “Hell, yeah. She’s great at brainstorming.”
Veronica scowled. She didn’t want to be reminded of those appealing dimples. “Just go away and leave me alone.”
He chuckled as he swung his bag over his shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back tomorrow. And maybe then you’ll have dinner with me.”
She scoffed. “In your dreams, Conn.”
He flashed another quick grin at her before jogging down the steps and disappearing into the gathering darkness with Rebel galloping ahead on the path.
Veronica watched him go until she saw a light flick on through the trees. Ugh. Why did he have to rent the old Hendricks place? There were tons of other rental properties in the area that weren’t right next door to hers.
And why did she suddenly feel empty with him gone?
She wasn’t about to analyze that, but she couldn’t deny that there was something about Conn that drew her to him. Maybe it was his easy confidence or the way his eyes sparkled when he talked about writing. She always loved when she saw glimpses of that nerdy boy he used to be.
No.
Wait.
Not love.
Not for Connelly.
Not anymore.
The night stretched out before her like a vast, dark ocean. She took a deep breath and stood up, the familiar weight of the fear settling in her chest. She tried to ignore it, to push it away, but it was like a monster that refused to be silenced.
She would go to the kitchen and pour?—
No, she wouldn’t think of the fresh bottle of wine that arrived with the groceries Dad had sent. She’d make coffee. She didn’t need alcohol to survive the night. She wasn’t her mother.
As she walked toward the kitchen, a framed picture on the bookshelf caught her attention. Dad had taken it right after she and Connelly graduated from college and ROTC as newly minted second lieutenants. Conn had been on his way to Special Tactics Officer Assessment and Selection, taking the next step to becoming a Combat Rescue Officer, and she had just received her first seat assignment on an aircraft.
They were both grinning.
Both so young.
So naive.
The picture was a reminder of everything she had lost, of everything that had been taken away from her.
She turned it facedown and continued on into the kitchen.
Forget coffee.
