Chapter 21 #2
“I’m not sure true closure even exists,” he says after a moment. “People talk about moving on like it’s something you check off a list. But you don’t move on, you end up carrying the pain differently.”
So many emotions I’ve tried to run from bubble to the surface. Tears prick my eyes, but I swallow hard and will them away. “Yeah,” I murmur. “That’s exactly it. You learn how to live with the regret and anger.”
“Well, some people let it consume them.” He studies me with his quiet, unreadable intensity. “But not you. You’re stronger than that.”
“I try.”
“You’re doing better than you think,” he says.
A smile ghosts across my lips. “You don’t even know me that well.”
“Maybe not,” he says, voice low. “But I know the look of someone who’s been through hell—and instead of succumbing to the flames, you walked out ready to battle demons.”
“Literally.” I let out a dark laugh.
Declan doesn’t join in. “Thank you for trusting me.” His tone is steady as he reaches across the table and slides his hand over mine. “I get the feeling you don’t talk about your mom often.”
Of course he’s right. The truth is I haven’t talked about my childhood or my mother with anyone other than Wren in a long time. Instinct warns me to pull away, to keep every last piece of myself tucked safely away where no one can ever hurt me again.
Instead, I turn my hand over and lace my fingers with his. The faint green shimmer of my mark glows at the edge of my sleeve, catching the candlelight between us. “I do trust you.”
A quiet, almost grave acceptance flickers in his eyes. The air between us hums. He traces his thumb along my pinky, slow and exploratory. Every brush of his skin lights another spark under mine.
“Here we are!” Harper’s chipper voice cuts through the silence. Her gaze drops to our joined hands, and we pull apart like teenagers caught making out behind the gym.
She sets down a shallow bowl between us—pillowy half-moons of ravioli glistening in a pool of golden cream, speckled with toasted walnuts and shavings of Parmesan. The scent of butter and nutmeg fills the air, warm and decadent.
“Pumpkin ravioli appetizer for two,” Harper announces, setting two small plates beside it. “Do you need anything else? Entrees should be right up.”
Declan raises a questioning eyebrow at me and I shake my head.
As soon as she leaves, he picks up the serving spoon and slides one of the raviolis onto my plate. “You first.”
The edge of his mouth lifts, as if he enjoys feeding me.
I cut into the soft pasta and lift a bite to my lips. The flavor blooms instantly—sweet pumpkin, sharp Parmesan, browned butter that tastes faintly of roasted hazelnut. All of it rich and comforting.
“Good?” he asks.
“So good.” I take a sip of my water. “Even better than I imagined.”
He nods once, as if he’s pleased I approve of this place he seems to like so much. “Gloria’s a magician in the kitchen.”
“Was she a friend of your parents’ too?” I ask lightly, twirling my fork through the sauce to gather one last bite.
His expression flickers. “More like family. She worked for my parents when I was a kid. Stayed on for a while after my dad passed.”
I glance up, startled. “And she still checks on you?”
He huffs a quiet laugh. “She’d say she keeps me fed so I don’t waste away. I think she’s afraid I’ll starve or turn feral.”
“I can’t picture you feral,” I tease. “You’re too…controlled.”
“Controlled.” He rolls the word around like he’s testing the feel of it. “That’s fair.”
I run my gaze over him. Even under his loose T-shirt, the hard planes of his chest are easy to make out. Yes, Declan’s perfectly in control, which is annoying since he makes me feel so out of control when I’m around him.
I drop my gaze to my plate and poke my fork into another ravioli, dragging it through the cream sauce before popping it in my mouth. I chew each bite slowly and by the time I’m finally finished, Harper reappears with our entrées.
She sets my pork chops in front of me—maple-glazed, crowned with caramelized apples and sprigs of rosemary—and slides a bubbling dish of shepherd’s pie toward Declan. “Be careful, it’s hot,” she warns, smiling at him.
“Thanks, Harper,” he says, keeping his eyes on me.
My cheeks flush from his constant attention.
“This portion is huge.” I prod one pork chop with my fork. “Do you want to try it?”
“Sure. But we can always box it up and take it home with—” He glances down at his plate. “Take it back to the inn with you.”
Ouch, is that a subtle way to let me know I won’t be going home with him again tonight?
I refuse to ask. Instead, I take a bite of pork. The sweet glaze melts into smoke, salt, and the tang of apples on my tongue.
“Oh my God,” I mumble around the mouthful. “It’s so good.”
Declan nods, pleased with himself. “Told you. Gloria’s a magician.”
“She is,” I agree and quickly cut another piece of pork.
We eat in companionable quiet for a few minutes, the clink of silverware and low hum of conversation wrapping around us. Eventually, curiosity pushes me to ask, “What about your parents? You said Gloria worked for them. What did they do?”
He sets his fork down, his thumb brushing along the edge of his napkin. “My dad was a craftsman. Metalwork mostly—iron gates, ornate signs, some tools. Things that last centuries when they’re built with care and attention to detail.”
“That’s…fitting.” I stop stuffing my face and tug at the iron key around my neck. “So, you learned to make jewelry from your dad?”
“I learned to make all sorts of things from him. My grandfather was the jeweler, though.” His gaze shifts to the side. “I’d like to get back to making finer pieces, eventually.”
“Talented family,” I murmur, a sudden wash of embarrassment sliding over me. I shouldn’t have shared so many details about my mother or my impoverished childhood.
An awkward silence stretches between us.
He studies me for a long moment before speaking. “You shouldn’t be embarrassed,” he says quietly. “You survived what you had to. That’s something to be proud of.”
I trace the edge of my plate with my fork. “Maybe. But sometimes I hate the way it still defines me.”
“No, it doesn’t.” His lips twist in frustration. “I never would’ve guessed any of that if you hadn’t told me.”
Now I really wish I’d kept my mouth shut.
“I know you don’t think I could possibly understand.” He sweeps one hand in the air toward the door. “I grew up around here and people know me.” His voice drops a notch. “They’re polite now, but for years, a lot of people in this town treated my family like we’d escaped from an asylum.”
He frowns and casts a sideways glance around the small room as if the town’s ghosts might overhear our conversation. “When my sister disappeared, people finally understood the curse was real. My mom spent the rest of her life trying to break it.”
“Did she get close?”
He exhales through his nose. “No. It can’t be broken.”
I tilt my head, studying him. “If someone placed it, someone can break it. Curses are just cause and effect, right?”
Declan just stares at me. Does he think I’m an idiot or has this never occurred to him?
“Even if you’re right,” he says finally, “whoever cast the spell has been dead for centuries.”
“There doesn’t have to be a person.” I lean forward, voice picking up with the thrill of an idea. “There could be a condition, an acknowledgement of a wrong, or maybe some simple action that ends it?”
“Emery,” he says gently, “if that were possible, my family would’ve found it.”
“What if it couldn’t be found until now?” I shoot back.
He raises his eyebrows and his lips tilt into an indulgent smile.
“I’m not saying I’m the reason,” I add, just in case he thinks I’m that full of myself.
He shrugs. “Maybe you are.” At least he sounds sincere and not like he’s mocking me.
“How was everything?” Harper reappears at the edge of the table, too chipper for the room’s energy.
“Wonderful.” I push my plate away, amazed I managed to eat that much while talking about ancient death curses.
“Can I interest you in dessert?” she asks, her gaze bouncing between us.
“Anything chocolate,” I say without hesitation.
Declan chuckles low in his throat.
Harper grins. “We’ve got a blackout cake that’s to die for.” She squeezes her eyes shut like she’s savoring the memory of the last bite that passed her lips.
“Sold,” I say.
“I’ll have coffee,” Declan adds, flashing her his lazy grin. “And I’ll help her with the cake.”
After Harper leaves, I lean over the table, voice light again. “Who said I’m sharing my chocolate cake?”
He mirrors me, elbows braced on the table. “Trust me, you’ll need the help.” His gaze dips for half a second, teeth catching his bottom lip like he can’t help himself.
I glance down and realize my sweater’s gaped open. Heat climbs my neck. I palm the neckline closed and catch him watching me—unapologetically.
“You’re really a boob guy, huh?” I tease, remembering the awed way he’d studied my body this morning.
He shakes his head slowly, that faint smile still playing at the corner of his mouth. “I think I’m just an Emery guy.”
If that isn’t the sweetest damn line. Coming from Declan, anyway. If any other man said that while blatantly checking me out, I’d probably toss my water in his face.
Harper returns balancing a plate the size of a dinner platter. The slice of dark chocolate cake towers in the middle, glossy with ganache and crowned with dark chocolate shavings.
“Enjoy,” she says, sliding it between us with a wink before disappearing again.
I blink at the mountain of chocolate. “Okay, fine,” I admit. “I might need your assistance.”
Declan’s smoldering eyes are pure sin. “Told you.” He nods for me to take the first bite.
I dig my fork into the side closest to me. The rich chocolate scent hits first—warm, indulgent, sinful. Eyes locked on Declan, I slip the fork into my mouth and can’t help the small sound that escapes when the sweet, velvety flavor hits my tongue.
“Good, right?” Declan asks, watching me instead of tasting the cake.
I nod, swallowing. “Dangerously delicious.”
He hums low in his throat, slides the fork back into the cake, and offers me another bite—his bite this time. I should shake my head, insist that he try it, but instead I part my lips and let him guide the cake closer.
His gaze lingers on my lips as he takes the fork away. He drags his fork through the first layer, lifting a bite to his mouth. I can’t stop thinking about his hands all over me last night and now his sensual mouth and what it can do to my body.
But I’m too chicken to say anything so I eat the cake and keep my dirty thoughts to myself. After a few more bites, my stomach’s organizing a protest.
“I’ll explode if I eat another bite.” I push the heavy slice of chocolate cake toward Declan.
He drags his fork through the thick frosting and lifts it to his lips. “As good as it is…” He pauses to slick his tongue along his lower lip, gaze locked on mine. “I’d rather lick you. All over. Until you scream my name. Several times.”
Without breaking eye contact, he licks the frosting off the tines.
Heat rolls through me, dizzying in its intensity. I rest my elbows on the table and lean forward, lowering my voice. “Are you trying to demonstrate your skills by tonguing that fork?”
His lips curve into a slow, wicked smile. “Is it working?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” He sets the fork down with a solid clink and raises a finger to signal Harper for the check.
Under the table, I press my knees together, trying to quiet the pulse between my thighs. He leans in just enough for his next words to caress my skin.
“Come back to my apartment with me.” His voice lands somewhere between a command and a question.
My breath stutters. I open my mouth to immediately scream yes, then hesitate. “Is this about protecting me from the Rider?” I flick my gaze to the half-eaten cake. “Or finishing what you’ve started?”
“Can it be both?” His expression stays serious, but his eyes burn with intent. “With an emphasis on getting my mouth all over you.”
I stand so fast, I almost knock over my chair. “That works for me.”
A low rumble shakes the window, followed by the soft hiss of rain against glass. The downpour builds fast—sheets of water slithering down the panes, thunder distant but moving closer.
Both of us glance out at the storm.
“We’re going to get soaked.” I frown into the dark night, the glass so covered with water, I can’t see anything beyond.
He stands and pulls out his wallet. “Rain or not, you’re going to be soaked in the next fifteen minutes anyway.”