“Fine.”
“Fine?”
She stalked down the hallway to the living room, brushing by me with a solid shoulder block that knocked me into the wall. I followed, much more slowly. But she was already at the door, holding it open. “I’ll have the proposal written up and ready for you by Thursday.”
I sighed. “Take your time.”
“Thursday.”
I paused at the door. “You’re the best person for this job. That’s the important part. Not this.”
“You got that freaking right.”
She followed me out into the hall.
I swung around. “Get back inside, Hellcat. You’re just wearing a shirt.” The sconces behind her on the wall threw her into silhouette. “I can see the outline of every inch of you, for fuck’s sake.”
“Take a good look, Nolan Devereaux. Last time you’re going to see it. Your idea, remember?” She whirled and the shirt floated up to show that heart-shaped ass that made me crave all sorts of things I shouldn’t.
Then she slammed the door loud enough for the whole hallway to reverberate with the sound.
I raked my fingers into my hair and gripped it tight enough for the pain to center me. When I turned back to the elevator, a woman was scurrying into her own apartment.
I stalked to the door for the stairs. There was no way I could handle the cramped space of the elevator right now. I thundered down the stairs and out the door to the quiet of the empty lobby. The group watching television had dispersed and thankfully, the doorman was gone at this late hour.
Or not.
Murphy? Murray?
Whatever his name was, he popped from behind a wall and held the door open for me. “You’re well past the hour, sir.”
“Fuck you.”
“Manners like that show just how unworthy you are for Miss Dahlia.”
As if I didn’t know that already. I kept walking, kicking up the pace until I was loping across the four-lane boulevard to my truck.
LITTLE DICK stared right at me as I unlocked the Silverado.
I slammed the door and pulled out into traffic, heading right for the Cove. I should have gone to the Airstream.
Should have done a lot of things differently today.
But right now, I needed to walk. The craggy coastline by my house wasn’t hospitable for the dark. I’d make sure to change that in the future, but right now, I needed the solace of the water and the long, walking paths I’d found my first day in town.
The trip into town was a short one. Kensington Square and Crescent Cove were only a few miles apart, even if they were way apart in vibe. Where Kensington Square was more like its own enclave of like-minded business owners who wanted to carve out their own space away from nearby Syracuse, Crescent Cove was the definition of Small Town USA.
Crescent Lake certainly drew people and businesses in, but almost everything was family-focused. From the growing maze of developments with their cookie-cutter houses to the quaint Main Street full of small businesses, eateries, and lazy walking trails for tourists—everything about it was welcoming.
But it also shut down before sundown, save for a few places.
I found a spot near Brewed Awakening. The café was dark at this time of night, and it seemed as if The Haunt was doing a brisk business. But I didn’t want to face my sister tonight. I was still too raw from Dahlia.
Instead, I headed down the sidewalk and cut behind the diner to the path through the park along the lake. It was well-lit with modernized lamps that looked much like old street lamps but with obvious LED lights instead, which left the path easy to navigate.
A few people had the same idea as I had now that the heat of the day dissipated. A trio of women in varying stages of pregnancy were walking together. Another couple walked a dog.
The night sounds off the water smoothed out my frayed edges. The trill of tree frogs along with summertime beetles that reminded me of the one summer I’d spent in the Adirondacks. The first time I’d ventured out of Chicago had been to the east coast.
Anything to get away from the memories of my sister’s shattered eyes.
And yet here I was in New York again. This time, the pain had followed me—both mine and the echo of it in Macy’s gaze when she’d seen me in her café.
I’d do what I needed to do to mend that pain. That was the part I needed to remember, not the endless thirst that had taken hold after Dahlia practically dared me into her bed.
It was a fluke.
I’d been pent up for too damn long, that was all.
It was more important to get my house put together and my relationship with my sister figured out. If she’d allow it.
There were no guarantees in this life, and I had the scars to prove it.
I followed the path deeper into the trees. Lightning bugs flashed along the waterline and the breeze ruffled the tall grass that grew from the silted shoreline on this side of the lake. My own beach was rockier and more inhospitable. I’d do my best to work on that part—or find someone who could.
But for now, I let the tranquil sounds soak into my skin. I needed that after Dahlia, as well.
When I was around her, I felt anything but calm. Ramped up was more our speed. I’d just have to make sure I stayed out of her way because after seeing her drawings, I knew she was the correct choice for the house.
