Page 68 of Fractured Ice

"You owe me a real conversation," she says. "Not on a sidewalk at night."

"Whenever you want it."

"I'll let you know."

"Okay."

She reaches out and straightens the pile of cash, squaring the edges against the table. It's something to keep her hands busy. I know she knows I know that.

"One hour," she says.

"One hour," I agree.

I stay at the booth, and she doesn't tell me to leave. The March sun sits warm on the top of my head, and it's the best I've felt in a week.

Across the lawn, Knox is still exactly where I left him, standing in the same spot, staring at the same stretch of nothing I couldn't make sense of before. He hasn't moved in an hour.

I don't know what he's waiting for.

But he's definitely waiting for something.

But right now he’s not my focus, the beautiful woman in front of me is.

16

Sienna

The pile of dollar bills is organized into two stacks. One for used, one for remaining. It's a system. And if I’m focused on the money, I’m not focused on kissing Ethan.

"Fine," I say. "One kiss. Then you leave."

Ethan's leaning against the table with his arms crossed and a look of absolute patience, like he has nowhere else to be and is completely comfortable waiting me out. "One kiss per dollar. That was the deal."

"I didn't make that deal."

"The sign made that deal."

I look at the sign. He's not wrong, which is annoying. I look back at him. He's watching me with that warm, unhurried expression that I've been trying to categorize for weeks and keep failing to. I lean forward across the table and kiss him quickly, a single press of lips, the way you'd kiss a relative at Christmas, and lean back.

Quick. Efficient. Completely manageable.

I pick up the top dollar from the remaining stack and move it to the used stack.

"Next," I say.

The corner of his mouth moves. "Next."

I lean in again. This one lasts maybe half a second longer, which is nothing, which is barely anything, and when I pull back he's slightly closer to the table than he was before. I move another dollar.

"You ruined my date," I say.

"I know." He doesn't look remotely sorry. "Next."

I lean in. This kiss is different and I can't explain exactly how, just that there's more intention in it, more pressure, and when I pull back my pulse has done something it wasn't doing thirty seconds ago.

"You're arrogant," I say.

"Completely," he agrees. "Next."