Page 61 of Dissonance

One corner of his mouth moves. “We’ve both got early mornings.”

I want to argue, but that’s annoyingly reasonable.

He pushes off the wall, turning toward the stairs. “Goodnight, Thea.”

I watch him until he disappears around the corner. Only once my apartment door clicks shut do I breathe properly.

Lockie now lives across the hall from me.

The man who came back from Taunton Falls after five days because I was here. Who showed up outside my office in the middle of the day to take me to lunch. Who ordered my second choice so I could have both. Who has now, apparently, decided the most logical next step is to lease the apartment directly opposite mine.

And I’m in so much trouble.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Thea

Turning up with coffee I thought would have been a one-time thing. But somewhere in the last two weeks, Lockie has become a part of my morning routine.

Some mornings, he catches me in the hallway as I’m locking up, to-go cup in hand, leaning against his door like he timed it perfectly. Once I even caught myself lingering an extra minute, pretending to look for something in my bag, when really, I was waiting to see if he’d appear. When he didn’t, he turned up at my office instead, Mae smirking over the rim of her own drink, eyes alight as she watched us.

Every day, the same order—decaf Americano with no sugar—appears. Every day something different beside it. A croissant, yogurt, granola, one particularly tragic blueberry muffin that lasted exactly one bite before my stomach revolted violently.

Trial and error, apparently.

As if summoned, a shadow fills my doorway. Shoulder against the frame, he holds up the familiar cup, followed by a crisp white paper bag.

“What have you brought me today that may or may not ruin my morning?” I tease, leaning back in my chair, offering him the smile I can’t seem to stop whenever I see him now.

“Feeling optimistic today,” he says, pushing upright and walking farther inside.

I reach for the coffee first, heat bleeding through the cardboard sleeve and into my hand as I remove the lid and inhale. The scent hits soft and mild, nothing sharp or strong enough to turn my stomach, and I take a cautious sip, sighing immediately, my eyes closing at the taste.

“So good,” I murmur. “Seriously, do you have any idea how many decaf blends I’ve tried? Three. Three different ones, and every single one tastes like an ashtray.”

He says nothing, watching me over his own cup as I take another sip, trying not to burn my tongue. Yeah, this is definitely a good one.

“Where do you get this from?” I ask, turning the cup around and finding no logo. Not that there ever is one.

“No,” he says, with barely a shake of his head.

“Excuse me?” I frown, my smile waning slightly.

“If it makes you smile at me like that”—he slides the bag across my desk—“I’m not telling you where I get it.”

My mouth falls open, not wide, but enough that I immediately snap it shut again, heat blooming straight up my chest to my cheeks, and I grip the cup a little tighter.

Did he really just say that?

From outside the room, Mae makes a very poorly disguised choking noise.

“I should let you work,” he says, nodding toward the door.

“Do you…have any plans today?” I ask, surprising myself.

The corner of his mouth tilts, his expression unreadable as he nods. “Aye. A few things.”

Which tells me absolutely nothing. But before I can push, he steps around my desk, unhurried in that Lockie-way he moves. His hand lands on the back of my chair, turning me to face him. He leans down, lips brushing my temple, the scrape of his beard sending goosebumps down my neck.