Death and Relaxation (Ordinary Magic #1)(11)

“You and everyone else in Ordinary,” I said. “But I’ll note your bias in my official write-up.”

I gave Spud one last scratch behind his ear and then pocketed my notebook.

“Sure you won’t stay for a cup of coffee?” Ryder had crossed the space to stand right in front of me. He’d done it silently on a hardwood floor. Nice trick, that. “Won’t take but a minute to brew.”

“No, thanks.”

Why was my heart pounding so hard? Why was he standing so close? I took a step back in the hope my brain would have room to join me again. “I need to get to the station. It’s about time I relieve Jean. We’re still short-handed. Haven’t found anyone to hire yet and no one’s dumb enough to volunteer.”

He made a humming sound. “You look like you haven’t gotten any sleep for a while.”

“I’ve slept.” Not well. Not often.

“Maybe another time?” he suggested. His eyebrows were knitted, like maybe he was worried about us seeing each other.

It was a small town. There was no way we could avoid seeing each other.

“Sure,” I said. He still didn’t look convinced.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I just… It’s been a year. Since Dad…” I shut my mouth. Why was I talking to Ryder Bailey about the anniversary of my dad’s death? It wasn’t like Ryder and I were in elementary school. I’d shared everything with him when I was little. Even my ridiculously pink marshmallow Sno Ball desserts.

But not now. I was the one who kept the secrets of this town secret. And that meant I’d never really be able to share my life—my real life—with anyone like Ryder.

On bad days, I was pretty sure that was a big part of why Cooper had left me. There were too many things in my life I couldn’t tell him about, too much of me I couldn’t share.

“Hey,” he said softly, the word formed out of gentle acceptance and comfort.

I forgot how tall he was. At six-two, he was a good five inches taller than me. And even though he’d just rolled out of bed, he smelled nice: warm with a deep honey note—maybe the fabric softener or laundry soap from his clothes.

Images of him—naked him—flashed through my mind again in high-definition detail, and everything in me stirred.

“It’s only been a year,” he said. “If you ever need to talk about it. About your dad…about anything…” He reached over.

For a moment, from the way he was looking at me, I wondered if he was going to tip my face so he could kiss me. But instead, he pushed a strand of my hair that had escaped the hastily tied ponytail away from the edge of my cheek. The back of his fingers grazed my skin and my heart started beating harder.

His gaze followed his fingers in my hair, like it was some kind of rarity, to touch a simple lock of hair, then his eyes shifted back to me.

“…I’m right here,” he finished.

He waited, his hand warm, cupping my shoulder while still putting very little weight on it, his other hand in his back pocket, as if he was unsure he should even be touching. He was stepping over that invisible line of friendship between us, reaching over it for something more.

He was trying to help me, just like he always helped people.

I looked away from his eyes—looked anywhere but his eyes. He was just concerned for me, like he was concerned for anyone he thought was struggling.

But I wasn’t struggling. If he knew what I handled on a daily basis, not just the police work, but everything else that came along with keeping tabs on creatures and deities, he wouldn’t be giving me that look of concern. He’d be giving me a look of respect.

And I needed that much more than sympathy.

We were friends. I didn’t want to mess up our friendship just because I’d had a couple hard days—weeks, the whole last year—and he felt sorry for me.

I leaned back, my shoulder slipping out from under his hand, breaking the connection.

He put his hand in his other back pocket so that both his elbows jutted out. Looked a little curious at my reaction.

“Thanks,” I said. “I appreciate that, Ryder. I haven’t really had…” I inhaled, exhaled. He was right about one thing: I was bone-tired. “I haven’t really had time to think about it too much lately. Think about Dad. Sorry, it just sort of fell out of my mouth. I need to—”

“Have dinner with me tonight.”

“What?” That was so not the subject I thought we were on.

“Let’s have dinner tonight. I’d like to take you out.”

“For dinner?”

“Yes.” A smile heated all the way up into his gold-green eyes. “It’s the meal that happens after lunch, which is the meal after you buy something out of the vending machine because you forgot to pick up donuts at the bakery before it closed again.”

“I assume Jean has been talking to you?”

“You’ve defaulted on three pastry promises last week. She thinks you’re not sleeping enough. I’m beginning to wonder if you’re trying to set her up with Hogan at the shop.”

“Hogan? Why would I— Hold on. She likes Hogan?”

“I don’t think she doesn’t like Hogan.”

“And she tells you this, not me? Not her sister?”