Page 37

Her bare feet pattered on the kitchen tile, and she swung an exaggerated arm around.

“Welcome,” she giggled. Her cheeks flamed.

He held her gaze, his face serious. Clearly not inebriated.

Her smile faltered. “You okay?”

She grabbed a glass of water and drained it, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. Saint stayed silent. He nudged the kitchen chair into a corner before he sat and put his back to the wall. Riley wasn’t sure he noticed he was doing it, but she’d seen it before. His face was hardened. Blank.

“Yeah, better now.”

His legs spanned most of the space, and he crossed them at the ankle. She folded a tea towel and then shook it out to hang it back up.

“No bike today?”

“Had to grab the truck. I parked out front, that okay?” His eyes moved too quickly for her.

She fidgeted with the corkscrew. Had something… bad happened?

“Want some wine?”

“Sure.” He rested his elbow on the counter, watching her as she flitted around. She poured the red wine into another mug and handed it to him.

When their fingers brushed, he gave her a quiet smile and a little shock pricked her.

Saint let out a long sigh and dropped his shoulders, tipped his head against the wall, and let his eyes close. His throat bobbed as he exhaled.

The tension, the corner, the vigilance—it was too familiar.

You’re predictable. Kristi’s voice sat heavy in Riley’s mind.

She stopped swirling her wine around the mug. “Can I ask you something?”

He opened his eyes. “Yeah.”

Her grip tightened, and the wine jumped up the edges of the cup. “Are you a cop or—law enforcement?” she asked. “Or were you?” Maybe he was undercover as a mechanic.

She really needed that to not be true.

He stilled, but he kept his relaxed pose.

Her breath lodged in her chest, tight and stabbing. And no amount of wine could protect her from the pain of repeating past mistakes. For a split second, everything stopped. It felt like a coin spun in the air, the moment before it landed and decided her fate.

“No. Never was. Never will be.” Saint shook his head, and his mouth tipped up. “I don’t have the patience for babysitting civilians.”

Riley’s breath rushed out, and her heart began to beat again. “Okay, good. I can’t date cops.”

He leaned forward and dropped his elbows onto his knees. His gaze felt heavy, careful and dark. “Is that what we’re doing? Dating?” His voice dropped.

She nodded slowly, unable to look away. “Feels like it. To me.” That coin spun again, but this time it landed. His mouth softened in that half-smile, and butterflies erupted in her chest.

“Good.” Saint brought the wine to his lips, eyes on hers. “If you want to know something, just ask.”

The buzz was getting too big for her ribs to contain. “I can do that.”

Probably.

Some answers caused more problems than they solved.