Page 93 of Ignite

I turn to one of Conan’s men; I don’t look at him, just grab the keys.

“Thanks.”

I run inside, slam the door, and lock it.

The cash spills across the counter when I dump my purse.

I definitely rattled him. He’s hiding something. And he’s scared, maybe not of me, but of what he feels.

Same.

Bertie barrels down the stairs and jumps on me.

“Hey, baby boy,” I coo, petting him.

I let him out into the garden and step out after him, the sky wide and black and full of stars.

I miss you, Dad.

I blink the tears back, go inside, and pour myself one of his favorite whiskeys. I can’t help thinking that even that is a strange twist of fate. Of all the distilleries, all the whiskeys, my dad was obsessed with the one Conan’s father created.

Grabbing my phone, I debate texting Conan to apologize. But, before I can do that, his name pops up.

I answer. Of course I do.

“Hallie…”

I’m already smiling.

“Conan…”

“I can’t go to bed knowing you’re upset with me. Can we talk?”

“I’m not mad, I promise. I was just disappointed you didn’t want to…” I trail off. I sound like a ho.

“Didn’t want to?”

“Come into my house. Kinda felt like you were brushing me off after I asked if I should be scared of you.”

He sighs. Long. Heavy.

“I didn’t mean to do that, baby. I’m sorry. I’ve… not ever had this kind of friendship with a woman.”

Friendship. That stings.

I toss back the rest of the whiskey.

“If you want to just be my friend, maybe don’t call me baby. Or darlin’. Or trouble.”

He chuckles low.

“Darlin’, you have no idea. But I think we’re on the same page about one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“That being friends ain’t enough.”

I blow out a long breath, feeling the heat start to rise.

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