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“My father doesn’t lie to me, if that’s what you mean.” Colton crossed his ankles. “Though if he’d known it was supposed to be some kind of secret you were here, he would’ve kept it for you.”

I pursed my lips. I knew Colton’s father was an honorable man, and by extension, Colton was. It made it much harder to be rude to them, to not feel guilty about leaving them in the lurch, and coming back a bitch about it.

“What are you doing here?” I folded my arms in front of me, deciding sardonic hostility was my best bet. Not mature. Not honorable. I was neither.

My eyes traveled over Colton’s body as he reached into the open window of his cruiser. The uniform he wore was a second skin, like he was a fucking stripper showing off tan, ripped arms and a tight ass.

He straightened, handing me a coffee cup.

“Espresso.” I couldn’t help noticing his sinewy forearms. “Four shots.”

My nose perked up at the bitter scent of the coffee, mixing with fall air and the smell of soap emanating from Colton.

A perfect cocktail, according to my body. My mouth moistened and my heartbeat picked up as the nerve endings between my legs sparked to life.

I ignored them.

“I can get my own coffee.” Being my usual stubborn self, I didn’t accept the coffee still hovering between us.

Colton tilted his head, brows furrowed as he stared at my face. I assumed he was trying to reconcile the version of me he remembered with the one standing in front of him.

“I bet you can.” His lips tipped upward in what looked like a forced grin. “I’m trying to avoid any more instances of assault with a deadly weapon.”

I sighed, taking the coffee if only because I needed the energy, and the veins in Colton’s forearms were more enticing than they had any right to be.

It didn’t surprise me that the episode with Dante and the knife had made its way to Colton’s ears. I was already exhausted by the small-town grapevine. It was going to make it really fucking hard to hunt here.

“There was no assault,” I corrected him as I took a sip of the coffee.

Hot, complex, perfectly strong. Just the coffee. Not Colton. He was still the simple, kind, high school quarterback. That was easier for me to swallow.

“There was a deadly weapon, though.” Colton sipped a coffee of his own, raising his eyebrows.

“No blood was drawn,” I countered.

“Thankfully.” Colton leaned back on his car again. He feigned a relaxed posture, but I could read the tightness around his eyes, the stiffness of his shoulders, the thin line of his mouth. “I try to avoid the paperwork if I can.” He was trying to joke, but it fell flat.

The silence that descended between us was loaded and awkward. Years yawned between us. I could feel the oppressive weight of Colton’s questions about my whereabouts, my reasons for leaving, the drastic change in my appearance. My knees ached from supporting so much pressure.

“You gonna invite me in?” Colton nodded to the house.

“Not a fucking chance.” I kept my tone even. Better to establish boundaries there and then. Cruel to be kind was my motto. Well, my motto was “kill monsters and drink to forget the rest,” but cruel to be kind worked there too.

I didn’t miss the shadow that went over his features. “It’s gonna be like that, then?” His voice was tight.

“Like what?” I asked with faux sweetness.

He ran his hand through his hair. “You know what the fuck like, Haddie. Like we’re strangers.”

I gripped the coffee cup, mindful of the fact that it was filled with scalding-hot liquid that could give me painful burns. Though that kind of pain might’ve been preferable to whatever I was feeling, hearing the hurt lying under the anger in Colton’s tone.

“Don’t call me that.” I spoke through gritted teeth. “We are strangers, Colton.”

He pushed off the car, crossing the distance between us. I straightened my spine, refusing to back away, even if his proximity made my stomach churn.

“We’re not fucking strangers, Hadley,” he snarled. “We were⁠—”

“We were children.” I waved my hand violently between us, hitting his sculpted chest as I did so. “We’re both all grown up now. We’re both completely different people now.” My words didn’t come off as harsh and grating as I intended. They were almost an apology. Almost regretful.