Page 9

Things I’d soon come to regret.

I rang up the last customer, turned the sign to CLOSED and took off my apron. I hollered toward the back that I’d see the moms in a bit, then hurried out to the waiting brothers.

Our families were having dinner at the Bishop house that night. When we ate together, it was almost always over there.

Our table seated six. Theirs looked like it had been designed for a medieval feast.

Declan was already behind the wheel of his Suburban when we reached it. I took shotgun because I always took shotgun unless someone had a reason to claim it first, and Clayton climbed into the back.

I looked over my shoulder and found Asher Bishop—Ruckus to the family and just about everyone else—already there, a textbook open across his thighs and loose papers covering most of the seat around him. He was another oversized Bishop, all long limbs, tan skin and blond hair a few shades lighter than Chief's. Ruckus lived in T-shirts, worn jeans and beat-up sneakers unless somebody forced him into something nicer.

“Hey, Piper.” He glanced up. “Please tell me Clayton isn’t attempting to cook dinner on his own tonight.”

I laughed. “Don’t worry. He’s grilling. We’re all safe.”

“Hey now,” Clayton protested, settling in beside him. “I’m a fine cook.”

Ruckus looked at me. I looked at Ruckus.

“Everyone has a few bad days,” Clayton continued. “And clearly I should never try to cook eggplant again.”

“Ruckus still has a scar,” I pointed out.

Ruckus held up his forearm, where a faint pink mark crossed the skin. “You started a fire. I nearly died.”

“It was one potholder, and you burned your arm.”

Declan put the Suburban in gear. “Seat belts,” he said.

Three clicks followed almost simultaneously.

Chief.

I smiled before I could stop myself.

It faded just as quickly. Declan didn’t look at me.

My eyes dropped to his hands instead. Big hands wrapped around the steering wheel, veins visible along the backs, fingers loose and sure.

I looked away. Then I snuck one sidelong glance at his face. Only a brief one. It wasn’t like I needed to look at him. Everything about Declan Bishop was permanently burned into my brain.

God, he was beautiful. He did things to me. Wonderful, terrible things. Confused, complex, tragic things.

There was only one thing about him that wasn’t hard.

His mouth. It was a pretty mouth. Soft-looking, full, completely at odds with the rest of him. I had spent an embarrassing amount of my life wondering what it would feel like against mine.

I stared too long.

He caught me.

Not directly. His eyes stayed on the road, but something changed around them. A tightening. A small dent appearing between his brows.

I knew that dent. He got it whenever he was holding something back from me.

What, I had no clue. Probably irritation.

I looked out my window. If I had one wish, it would be that I stop turning to mush every time I was around him. I didn’t want to be soft on Declan anymore.