Chapter 14 #2
Nessie opened her mouth to deny it, but closed it again without saying a word. After working the dough furiously for a beat of stubborn silence, she finally sighed and straightened. She dumped the dough into a bowl, covered it, and set it aside to proof.
She dusted her hands on her apron and finally faced Naomi. “I’m sorry. Jax came home upset last night. He and Ghost had some words, and I’m just… I don’t like seeing Jax sad. I guess I’m being over-protective.”
Dammit. That explained the note of vulnerability in Ghost’s voice when he called last night. As she’d suspected, it had never been just about the broken mug.
The bell above the door jingled again. Nessie smiled and waved as Ruthie Campbell and Margery Pendry came in. They waved back and chose one of the booths near Ghost’s seat.
Naomi glanced over at Ghost, but he was still focused on the street, not paying any attention to their conversation. Still, she leaned over the counter and lowered her voice so the town’s two biggest gossips wouldn’t overhear. “What happened?”
“Jax didn’t really say.” Nessie selected two mismatched mugs and crossed to the coffee pot warming next to a fancy espresso machine. “He came home all quiet and broody. Didn’t sleep well, and he was still grumpy this morning. Whatever it was, it hurt him.”
That sounded about right. She was starting to know Owen—Ghost. Ghost, dammit. The man didn’t just push people away when he needed space—he threw them off a cliff without a parachute.
“I could talk to him,” she offered. “Ghost, I mean. See if he’s willing to clear the air between them. He might open up to me.”
Nessie scoffed and slid the two mugs across the counter. “Want a crowbar? I have one in back.”
Yeah, she probably would need a crowbar and maybe a few sticks of dynamite to get anything out of him in the light of day.
“Can’t hurt to try.” She picked up the mugs. “Mind if we hang out here for a bit? We’re waiting for someone.”
“That’s what the tables are here for.” Nessie shrugged and turned to grab an everything bagel from the pastry case. She set it on a plate with a pat of cream cheese shaped like a little flower.
Adorable.
She slid the plate across the counter. “Ghost’s order. Do you want anything?”
Naomi studied the menu. “I’ll take the egg and cheese breakfast sandwich on a croissant.“
“Excellent choice. I’ll bring it right out.”
The bakery was filling up. Margery and Ruthie already had their heads together, no doubt fueling the rumor mill. Clyde Jensen and Marv Dorsey argued over whether the horseshoe league was rigged. Levi Wiley dragged his laptop into the corner booth to work on his novel.
If the bakery had a pulse, it was this: the slow thrum of town gossip, sugar, and the illusion that nothing bad could ever breach these walls.
Ghost sat alone at the window table. He looked like he always did.
Blank. But Naomi noticed the little things now—the tightness around his eyes that said he hadn’t slept much last night either, the tension in his shoulders, the way he tracked every movement around him even while pretending to look bored.
The blue light from Nessie’s OPEN sign caught the side of his face and made his eyes go pale, cold as the river in spring.
She wondered if he knew she could see the cracks in his armor.
She turned back to Nessie. “Listen, I get why you’re annoyed, but try not to take it out on him while we’re here, okay? He had a rough night, too.”
Nessie had been pouring two more mugs of coffee, but stopped and looked over with wide eyes. “How do you know what kind of night he had? In fact, why are you here with him so early?”
Naomi held up her hand. “Don’t, Ness. It’s not like that. He’s just doing me a favor, helping me investigate Leelee’s disappearance.”
“Uh-huh.”
Heat crawled up her neck. “No, seriously, it’s not like that.”
“If you say so.” Nessie’s smile turned knowing as she went back to pouring coffee for the rest of her customers. “But Jax says Ghost doesn’t do favors for anyone, ever. So if he’s making an exception for you...”
“He’s making an exception for Leelee,” she corrected. “He also sees the pattern in these disappearances. That’s all.”
Nessie hummed noncommittally, and Naomi knew a losing battle when she saw one. She balanced the coffee mugs and the plate and headed to the window table, ignoring Nessie’s snicker as she walked away.
Ghost barely looked up when she set his coffee and bagel down. Didn’t thank her, didn’t move. He just kept his gaze fixed on Foster’s office across the street, eyes narrowed, jaw tight. Like nothing else in the world mattered except the possibility of someone making a run for it.
Fine. If he wanted to be all business, she could match him.
For now.
She dropped into the chair opposite, sandwiching her own mug between her palms and letting the warmth sink into her bones. Her fingers were still cold from outside, and the coffee helped. A little.
She took a sip, and the taste nearly knocked her back out of her seat.
Damn. This was good. Rich, dark, a little smoky, just the right amount of bitterness. Way better than the to-go cup he’d originally brought her. He’d been right to dump that out.
She went in for another sip, studying him over the rim. The lines around his eyes were deeper this morning, and the shadows there spoke of more than one sleepless night.
“You should apologize to Jax,” she said softly.
He froze with his mug halfway to his mouth. For a second, he didn’t move. Not even a blink. Just that dead blue-gray stare pinning her like a butterfly to a board.
She curled her hands tighter around her own mug. “I mean it. He’s worried about you. Nessie said he didn’t sleep last night.”
She waited for the argument, some dry retort. It didn’t come.
Instead, Ghost set his coffee down with silent precision, gaze locked on the street. His jaw worked like he was grinding stones between his teeth. “He’ll get over it.”
“Will he?”
He cut her a look sharp enough to draw blood. “I don’t owe him anything.”
“It’s not about owing. He tried to check on you last night, and from the sounds of it, you gutted him. Apologizing is the right thing to do.”
He didn’t respond. Just stared out the window as rain beaded and slid down the glass. For a full ten seconds, he went statue-still, the kind of quiet that telegraphed walls going up, not down.
“Owen.”
At his name, his gaze snapped to hers and held. She saw the flash of vulnerability before he hid it and thought about the way his voice had sounded on the phone last night. Raw. Worn. Like a man who’d been hollowed out and didn’t trust the world not to break what was left of him.
“If you keep pushing everybody away, you’re going to have a very lonely life.”
Ghost’s jaw flexed. For a second, she thought he might lash out, but he didn’t. He just stared her down with those icewater eyes.
She sat back and crossed her arms over her chest, waiting him out. His gaze followed the movement, and she didn’t miss how it lingered a second too long on her chest.
“You’re cold,” he said. Not a question, but a matter-of-fact statement.
Standing abruptly, he peeled off his jacket, then his hoodie, revealing a plain black T-shirt underneath. He tossed the sweatshirt across the table. The movement startled her, and she caught it on reflex. Warm from his body, it smelled like cedar, rain, and the dark spice of cigar smoke.
She held it for a second, unsure whether to put it on or hand it back. “You’re trying to change the subject.”
He stuffed his arms back into his jacket and returned to his seat. “Put it on, Fury. You’re shivering.”
Was she? Maybe. Her skin prickled with cold, but also from the brush of his gaze. “I’m fine.”
His gaze dipped to her chest.
He didn’t bother to hide it. No apology, no flicker of shame. Just a flat, hungry stare, focused dead-on the hard points of her nipples under her shirt.
Heat flooded her face, but she didn’t look away. Hell, she couldn’t—not with the way his attention pinned her in place.
“Every single fucking man who’s walked in here has stared at you.” His voice was low, rough. The kind of sound that scraped raw along your nerves and left you aching in places you didn’t know you could ache. “I don’t like it.”
She folded her arms, pretending to shield herself from the chill, but really she just needed pressure. Something to keep her anchored while he watched her with that predatory focus.
He leaned in over the table, crowding her space until the scent of him and the weight of his attention erased the whole damn bakery.
All those locals, the laughter and clatter and rising scent of cinnamon?
Gone. There was only the caress of his gaze—hungry, unblinking—and the wild drumbeat under her skin.
“Put the hoodie on, Fury, or I’m taking you out of here.”
Her breath caught in her throat. This was dangerous. Stupid.
And yet she couldn’t stop herself from whispering, “Then take me.”