Page 49 of The Shots You Take

“Definitely.”

Riley was taking up most of the doorframe, leaning against one side with his arms crossed. He would have looked menacing, except Adam couldn’t possibly be intimidated by a man who’d made a room as adorable as this one.

“There are some books there.” Riley pointed to a small shelf in one corner of the room. “Since you’re such a bookworm now.”

“I only started reading a few years ago, when I broke my foot,” Adam said as he bent to scratch Lucky’s ears.

“Dad liked spy novels too. He’d give them to me after he finished them, but I don’t read much.” He stared at the shelf for a moment, not moving, then cleared his throat and said, “Anyway. Help yourself.”

Adam stood and took a step toward him. “Riley…”

Riley raised a hand. “I’m fine. I need to go to bed. Come on, Lucky.”

“Okay, but…thank you. Seriously.”

“No problem,” Riley muttered, though Adam felt like he was causing all sorts of problems for him.

Later, alone in possibly the best bed he’d ever been in, Adam wondered if he was imagining that Riley’s hatred of him was thawing a bit. Obviously if Riley hated him, Adam wouldn’t be in this bed, in this beautiful house. He wouldn’t have fedhim and done his laundry. He wouldn’t have offered him his dad’s spy novels.

Riley had to still care about Adam, at least a little bit. And that was something Adam could work with.

Chapter Fifteen

Adam had gone to Paula’s with the responsible intentions of ordering a light breakfast—maybe a coffee and some toast—but then he’d realized he hadn’t tried the pancakes yet. So now he was reclining with one arm stretched across the back of his booth seat, full of delicious buttery goodness.

“How’d the pancakes treat you?” Paula asked as she refilled his coffee.

“My god,” Adam said, patting his belly, “I might die, but it would be worth it.”

Paula laughed. “I’ve seen hockey boys put away twice as many pancakes without blinking.”

“Well, I’m not a boy anymore. Or a hockey player.”

“Go on with you. Are you an old man now?”

“Feels like it.”

Paula shook her head. “Barely out of your thirties, handsome as sin, complaining about being old.”

Adam smiled. He liked the way people talked here. “Handsome, eh?”

“Like you need to take my word for it. Now what’ve you got planned for today, Mr. Adam Sheppard?”

“I was going to pop into the shop—Tuck’s, I mean—to say hi.”

“Heard they were opening up today. That’s good. I hope it’s not too hard for poor Riley.”

The customers at the tables around them, who weren’t even pretending not to be eavesdropping, all made sounds of agreement.

“I’m sure he’d appreciate it if any of you want to stop in and show your support,” Adam said to the whole restaurant. “He did some reorganizing, and the place looks great.” To Paula he said, “That reminds me: can I get some coffees to go? Maybe some cinnamon buns?”

“Of course.”

“Hey, Shep,” said the young man in the booth across from his. “You should come by the Anchor tonight. We’re watching the game. Be cool to have you there.”

“Yeah?” Adam immediately began to wonder if he could convince Riley to join him. “Maybe I will. Thanks, um…”

The man beamed at him. He was young, probably in his twenties, and spoke with a French accent. “Seb,” he said.

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