Page 70 of Grim Tidings

“I get it.” She smiles and I can’t help but notice how brittle it looks. It barely reaches her eyes. “It was just a couple of body shots between friends. We got carried away. It doesn’t have to mean anything. I’m not—I’m not holding you to anything.”

I frown. “I still think I should—”

“It sounds like you’re gearing up for an apology,” she interrupts. She keeps her voice level, her expression fixed, but her eyes tell a different story. Her pupils expand, and I swear shadows swirl in the whites of her eyes. “And if you apologize,” she clarifies, “I will take you through the floor, Gabriel. I don’t care who is watching or what they see.”

I don’t know what it says about me that my dick immediately gets hard.

I clear my throat. “All right.”

“Don’t say sorry to me. Not about this.”

“Okay.”

She nods. “Okay.”

“Good.” I shift my body so my elbows are resting on the bar, my lower half hidden. “So if you weren’t avoiding me, you were …”

She blinks and her eyes clear. The shadows recede. “I was just taking some time for myself. Exploring the town.”

I arch an eyebrow. “Crossing things off your list?”

She beams at me. “Yes, actually. I carved a pumpkin. I think it turned out pretty well, all things considered.” She tips her chin up, proud. “I used a butter knife.”

She says it like she’s used some foreign, magical tool and not a utensil that’s found in every kitchen, everywhere.

“I thought I was supposed to help you cross things off.”

I sound like a petulant child. Like a toddler who has had his favorite toy stolen away.

Her smile fades. “I haven’t forgotten.” She looks down at the bar, thumbing over her sleeves. “Items for information. I know where we stand.”

I rub my hand over my mouth. None of this is going to plan. I don’t even know what the plan is, but it sure as shit isn’t Darcy folding in on herself. I grapple for something to say that isn’t accusatory. “I want to add something to your list,” I bark out, my mouth apparently operating independent from the rest of my body.

Darcy’s eyes dart to mine. She’s suspicious, and she has every right to be. I’ve been an asshole. Hot and cold and everything in between.

“You do?”

“Yeah, uh—” I push off the bar and swing around the far end, ducking beneath the partition. “Meet me out front tomorrow morning. I have somewhere I want to take you.”

“Back to the boat ramp?”

“No.”

“A shallow grave?”

I snort. “Also, no.” I grab a glass from under the bar. “Be here at four.”

Her eyes widen. “In the morning?”

That tight, impossible feeling releases its hold, and I’m finally able to take a breath. “You don’t need sleep, Darcy.”

“It’s the principle of the matter.”

“We’ll make it work.”

Darcy huffs some more, muttering something under her breath about infuriating, bossy bartenders. My smirk trips into a grin, and I grab the tequila as Darcy’s elbows land on the bar. Her chin is cradled in her hands, and her pout is so damn cute I want to bite it.

Fuck.