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Frank said his thanks and walked away.
Nico lingered a moment. “It’s good to see you again.”
She took in his face once more—the angry scar that had once bled crimson onto her hands, the body no longer ravaged by injury but instead strong and healthy before her.
Returning his smile, she said, “You too.”
And it was. If for no other reason than she finally had an answer to the question that had often occupied her thoughts in quiet moments: had he lived?
“Okay, what the hell are you doing?” Annie demanded a few minutes later.
Lexie knew exactly what she meant but continued loading her arms with plates from the warmer without looking up. “What are you talking about?”
Annie rolled her eyes dramatically. “Sexy cop wants to talk to you, so why aren’t you in the back with him, right now, getting acquainted? Or is it re-acquainted?”
“First of all, your eavesdropping is becoming a real problem,” Lexie threw over her shoulder as she maneuvered her way to a table against the far wall.
“Not for me,” Annie argued, hot on her tail. “And you’re avoiding the question.”
Lexie deposited the steaming meals in front of the waiting customers then turned on her heel—away from Annie’s prying questions and too-observant eyes.
“Oh, no you don’t,” she said, racing to block the path ahead. “Who is he?”
Unable to help herself, Lexie glanced at the table she’d seated the two cops at. She’d put them in Annie’s section on purpose, needing the space and time to gather herself. Nico’s dark gaze had warmed her skin from across the room since he sat down. He wasn’t staring, exactly. No more than she was at him. But he did seem to sense whenever her attention flicked over there—which was often enough to be embarrassing—and look right back at her. Every time.
“Come on,” Annie grizzled. “Tell me, tell me, tell me.”
“Alright, fine.” Lexie took a steadying breath. “You remember me telling you about that guy I found in a car wreck the day of . . . a while back?”
Annie ignored her reluctance to mention what else had happened that day. Instead, her eyes widened, then shot to table eight—where they stayed, ogling Nico with fresh interest. “That was him? Oh, honey, why on earth have you never followed up on that?”
“Gee, let me think,” Lexie said, looking away.
Annie’s attention snapped back to her. She crossed her arms. “It’s still like that, huh?”
“It was last I checked.”
“For chrissake,” she muttered. “How long are you going to let that asshole rule your life like this?”
Lexie felt the first prickles of anger rise. “Don’t.”
“Why not? I’m your best friend, and you’re being stupid. I believe that earns me chastising privileges.”
Lexie sighed, already knowing where the conversation was going. “We’ve been over this, Annie. It’s not worth the drama.”
“The hell it isn’t,” she argued, her tone turning mildly savage, which wasn’t like her.
Lexie stopped collecting napkins and cutlery for restocking and turned to face her.
“What do you want from me? His father has been on the town council for decades. His best friend is the chief of police who loves nothing more than to look the other way. We have no proof of what happened with—” The name lodged in her throat.
“Dalton,” Annie provided.
“And even if we did,” Lexie continued, “things work differently around here. They always have.” She let bitterness coat her words, hating the truth of them. “It is what it is, okay? So, just let it go. Please.”
A few beats of silence passed.
Annie let her arms drop. “Alright, fine. But this is bullshit, and you know it. And when you’re ready to stop being a coward and do something about it, you let me know.”
