Page 73 of Traitor

My stomach tightens. Belladonna Brew.

The coffee I bought from that place. From Ely'sfriend.

Fuck.

Doesn't matter now. Doesn't fucking matter.

I don't have time to dwell on it. I've got bigger things to focus on — fixing what I broke, making her see that I'm not leaving, and turning this place into something permanent.

Because Ely is here. And that means this is where I stay.

First thing I do the next morning is call the cabin's owner. The deal is already set, price agreed on. No escrow, no waiting. We’re paying in full, signing the contracts today. The guy was practically pissing himself with excitement that someone wanted his forgotten mountain paradise.

The lawyer is flying in, and by tonight, we'll have the keys.

But before that? I have a wildcat to see.

I don't bother going to the coffee shop.Not fucking yet.Instead, I stop by a florist in town, picking out a big, ridiculous bouquet of whatever the hell looks expensive and beautiful. I don't think flowers are going to do shit to soften Ely up, but I'll take any advantage I can get.

When I knock on her door, I brace for war. For curses, for the door slamming in my face, for that fire she keeps loaded just for me.

Instead, she opens the door with a fucking smile.

And my brain? Short circuits.

She's standing there, dressed like a goddamn wet dream in a red bodycon dress that hugs her like sin, her lips curved in something dangerously close to sweet.

"Bones!" she pouts, voice dripping with something I don't trust for a second. "I thought you were coming back Saturday. It's Tuesday. Why were you late?"

I narrow my eyes. Suspicion burns through me. Alarm bells blare in my head. This isn't right. Not even a little bit.

"I, uh—" What the fuck? I swallow hard, mind fogging like a dumbass. Her fucking smile. It's been years since she's looked at me like that.

"Things ran longer than expected in Driftwood," I finally manage, handing her the flowers like a fucking idiot. "Here. Hope you like them."

She takes them gracefully, smoothly. Like she was expecting this, like she already knows how the next few minutes are going to play out.

Then she steps back and smiles again, all teeth this time.

"Would you like to come in?" she asks, tilting her head, all soft and welcoming. "I don't have much time before work. I leave in fifteen minutes."

This is a setup. But I don't care.

"I'd actually love to," I say, stepping inside like the fool that I am.

I follow her to the kitchen, watching as she puts the flowers in water. Every step, every movement — too easy, too smooth.

"Would you like some coffee?" she offers, turning to me with something glinting in her eyes. Something that tells me I should say no.

But I don't.

"I'd love one," I say instead. I think I know exactly what's happening here, but I really don't care.

She hands me the cup, watching me too closely. Waiting.

"I actually wanted to talk to you about something," I start, taking the first sip without a hint of hesitation. Like I have no idea my insides will be melting soon. "But there's no time now. Let's have dinner. Not a date. I know you wouldn't want that. But there's shit happening, and I want to tell you in person."

She blinks, tilts her head. Acts surprised.

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