Page 86 of Still Missing You

“Yeah.”

Dylan closes his eyes briefly. “God.”

I squeeze his hand gently. “It’s over now.”

He opens his eyes again, looking at me for a long moment before he says quietly, “Yeah, it is. But not for us.”

I shake my head. “We’re just getting started.”

Chapter Thirty

Dylan

The bell over the café door chimes, and my head snaps up before I can stop myself. It’s not him, and I sigh, doing my best to hide my disappointment.

Mrs. Donnelly, who runs the realty office down the street, smiles as she makes her way toward the counter. She’s bundled up in a puffy coat that’s practically swallowing her. Not that I blame her. It’s barely October, but the wind is icy, stinging bare skin every time it gusts.

“Hey, Dylan,” she says.

I finish wiping down the espresso machine, though it’s already clean, and reach for a cup. “What can I get you?”

“The usual.” She shrugs out of her coat and drops into one of the tables nearest the counter.

“Coming right up.” My hands move on autopilot, grinding beans, tamping, pulling the shot, while my mind drifts again.

The clock on the wall reads 3:17 p.m. Hunter should be back soon. He said he’d be done by three, but work has a way of dragging on lately. Especially since Coldwater. Turns out taking down a prolific serial killer is good for business when you run a private investigation agency.

Business has taken off lately. I don’t mind, but it takes Hunter away more than I like. I’ve gotten used to falling asleep beside Hunter. After Coldwater, I have a hard time sleeping alone.

Today, though, he just had to drive down to Burlington to sign on another new client. It means he’s building something solid, something that’s his and his partners’.

“Here you go,” I say, handing Mrs. Donnelly her coffee and taking a quick glance at the door.

She smiles. “Thank you, dear.”

The café is busy today. Not packed, but steady. A couple of regulars at the window seats, a pair of college kids in the corner with laptops open, Matthew behind me placing more pastries in the display case.

“You expecting someone?” Matthew asks with a teasing grin.

My face heats. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He nods toward the door. “You’ve been looking over there every five seconds.”

I huff out a small laugh. “Am I that obvious?”

“Just a little.”

I shake my head, smiling faintly. “My husband is on his way home from work. He’s going to meet me here.”

His grin widens. “Still sounds strange hearing you say that.”

“Tell me about it.” Husband. The word still catches me off guard sometimes. In a good way. In a holy hell, this is real kind of way. Hunter Cade is my husband. We’re married, in love, and living together in my cabin in the woods. I can’t believe this is my life.

The happiness of it all softens the darker memories.

I look over at the door, then the clock. 3:30. Where is he?

Behind me, Matthew lets out a quiet snort. “You’re doing it again.”