Page 57 of Melancholia

Stop buying me coffee?

Why are you buying me coffee?

Do you know that it seems like we’re dating when you buy my coffee all the time?

I mull that over during the whole twenty minute drive to the park on the north side of town. With walking trails, birdwatching, and the pond that Silver Pond Park is named for, it’s usually a popular place for locals or anyone from the surrounding towns. As far as I know, aside from the state park, this is the place to go for hiking.

Or so I’ve been told by Betty, who doesn’t seem to realize I will not be joining the local walking and hiking club anytime soon, no matter how many posts she shares with me online. I won’t even humor her by going to one, and if she somehow finds out I’m here tonight, I’m sure I’ll never hear the end of it.

It’s not quite dark by the time I pull into the spot beside Amir’s Range Rover, but the sun is definitely dipping low beyond the trees. The shadows cast by the tall pines look like reaching fingers, and I stop at the edge of the parking lot, my boots on the sidewalk that winds through the grass. For a small-town park, it’s surprisingly well kept. Tall trees ring the entire perimeter, even along the side that backs up to town, forming a thick green wall around the open stretches of grass. On the opposite end, though, the woods bleed straight into the state park, where they just keep going.

And going.

For a long-ass time.

There are trails winding through them, sure, neatly marked and perfectly harmless in the daylight. At night, though, they look less like walking paths and more like invitations to disappear into the dark.

No amount of trail markers is enough to make me want to find out where they lead, even if I’m already meeting with the most dangerous person in the area.

A dog barks and I glance away from the forest, eyes scanning the park until I find two dark shapes that dart in and out of shadows like they’re a part of them. The bench near them is empty, though, when I look to see if Amir is there. His voice rings out a moment later, drawing my gaze to the grass where he comes out of one of the long, reaching shadows, with a ball in his hand.

He throws it, sending the ball sailing through the air, and one of the dogs charges after it. The other wags its tail and barks at him until Amir produces another from his pocket and tosses it up into the air for the Shepherd in front of him to catch.

My steps take me closer, and when I’m near enough, the black Shepherd looks up at me and woofs from behind the neon green toy.

“Hi,” I tell the dog, putting my hand out. Even after being menaced by one of them on Amir’s order, I’m not afraid of either. “I don’t actually know which you are, and I’m not about to get on my knees and look at your undercarriage to find out.” The dog noses my hand without dropping the ball, and at a shrill whistle from Amir that makes my ears ring, the dog turns and trots back to him obediently.

“Which one said hi to me?” I call, hand going out again as the one who stayed closer to him approaches to sniff.

“Noctis.” Amir watches me as Umbra sniffs my hands, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s waiting for me to turn and flee. “You aren’t afraid of them.”

“They haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Umbra terrified you.”

“Because you told her to.” I give him a tiny grin as I retort easily, hoping it doesn’t come off wolfish or over-confident.

But God, I love dogs.

“Can I pet them?”

“Of course you can.” He takes the ball from Noctis and tosses it up into the air so he can catch it once more. “He’ll give that to you if you ask." I do ask, though all it requires is for me to put my hand out, and Noctis slaps the ball into my palm before jumping backward a few steps.

With his eyes on me, Noctis drops into a play bow. His tail wags behind him and a smile touches my lips. “You are such a good boy,” I whisper, tossing the ball for him and sending it sailing through the air. He charges after it at full speed like I’ve unleashed a missile, and while I watch him, I walk the rest of the way over to stand near Amir.

When I glance up at him, a question on my lips, I find his eyes on me. They wander down my body, dark as he takes in the clothes I’m wearing. Sure enough, he’s dressed similarly, in a charcoal V-neck and black jeans that hug his thighs and look almost tailored specifically to him. Standing there, I can’t help thinking how much we really do like a pair who coordinated on purpose.

“Do you like it?”

Fuck. That’s not what I meant to ask.

Amir lifts his eyes to mine, and a small smile tugs at the edge of his mouth. “Do I like it?” he repeats, and there’s a rough note in his silky voice I don’t expect. “Are you really asking me that, Nell?”

Yeah, I definitely am, though I glance away and shake my head at his look. “Whatever.” But I cringe at the word and the way it makes me sound like a bratty, sulking teenager. Way to sound mature, Nell, I chastise silently. That’ll show him.

“Of course I like it.” He steps closer and reaches his hand out, his fingers hovering just over my sternum before he tugs the sweater slightly to even it out across my shoulders. “Perfect.” The low rumble of his voice has my stomach twisting in something like delight, but I’ll never admit that out loud.

“My perfect little mortician.” God, the praise is going to kill me. Especially when he tucks my hair back behind my ear and loops a finger under the fox jawbone I’m still wearing. “I knew this would fit you. Do you ever take it off?”