2. Lyric
TWO
LYRIC
My glass clattered as I fumbled my wine onto the bar top coaster.
Instinctively, I pulled my fingers into my sleeve.
I didn’t need to hide. I knew that down deep, but there was something about him that made me want to curl into myself.
Most of the time, I forgot all about the burn scars that licked up my arm and striped my back. They could have been so much worse. I was lucky.
So very lucky.
However, fourteen months of therapy stalled when this man stood in front of me.
He’d seen me that night.
The real me.
The one I never let out.
Vulnerable.
Terrified.
Helpless.
He hadn’t flinched. He’d stayed even as the fire grew. As the firefighters hollered at him to leave. That it wasn’t safe.
His dark eyes locked on mine as he tried to reach for me. The impossible difference in height of the deep pit of the basement and the main floor of Trick or Treat didn’t matter. The floor crumbled and shook, and he’d still stayed with me.
Never gave up on me.
Even as I screamed in the ambulance and the emergency room from the pain, he stayed.
Jensen Turner.
My employee.
I couldn’t even call him my friend.
I needed the boundaries. It was safer to keep him at a distance.
My gaze swept over his shoulders, down to his trim waist where a white towel hung. He wiped his long, artist’s fingers on the rough fabric. From here, I could see the calluses and the perpetual stains along the side of his hand.
I remembered days of working with him, side by side in the store. He always had a smear of paint or ink on his skin. His scent—acid-heavy from the chemicals he used for his artwork. The spray paints that forever stuck to his clothes and skin. But under it—smoky like a bonfire. Outdoors with a hint of something crisp.
His low rumble of a laugh and sly humor.
His distractible full lips made for long, slow kisses.
Slow kisses I had no business thinking about.
I watched the parade of girls come in to see him. He was young and unencumbered. Working at Trick or Treat had been just a way to afford to buy his art supplies. Twenty-two and unserious about anything other than a laugh or a good time.
I wasn’t built for that kind of man, no matter how he made my blood fire. I’d even been dating someone else to try to push him out of my head.
It hadn’t helped.
Then that night had happened.
The terror of his outstretched hand that could never reach me. The fire around me.
The pain.
I blinked, shoving the memory away. My muscles locked as he came closer in my periphery.
I pushed back my stool and stepped down.
“Lyric?”
My sister’s worried voice instantly got closer.
I glanced at Jensen because I couldn’t freaking stop myself. His dark eyes were intense, his jawline tight as I backed away from the bar.
“Lyric—” He fisted his hand on top of the bar.
“I…” I shook my head and grabbed my jacket. I licked my lips and smiled at CJ, my sister, and Colette Edison, who had both agreed to be my wingwomen tonight. “I think I need to go home.”
CJ frowned. “No, you don’t. You’re always home.”
Home was safe.
Home was full of my own things and the quiet. Suddenly, the atmosphere of the crowded bar and noise-filled restaurant overwhelmed me.
Everything felt as if it was closing in around me.
The clatter of dishes and utensils, laughter, the high-pitched giggle of a woman at the end of the bar.
My fingers shook around my charcoal overcoat. “You guys stay. The table is almost ready. Tell Mike that I’ll call him.”
Mike London, the teacher from St. Agnes.
My date.
CJ and Colette had come to The Cove to bolster me up. And it had been working. Finally, something had been working.
But seeing Jensen dragged me right back into that pit.
Into the basement of Trick or Treat.
Under the boiler and breaker box that had fallen on top of me.
“Lyric, there you are. Sorry, I’m late. Parking was madness out there.”
I spun around to find Mike standing there with one of the table buzzers. His light blue eyes kind, his face angular and attractive.
He frowned. “Are you okay?”
I shook my head. “I’m sorry. I don’t feel well.”
Disappointment slid across his face. “Oh, that’s okay. We can do it another time.”
Not ready.
I tucked my hand farther into the sleeve of my simple black shirt. “I don’t think this is a good idea. I don’t want to waste your time, Mike.”
He reached for my hand, and I pulled back.
He curled his fingers around the table buzzer. “Hey, it’s okay.”
God, why was I like this?
I’d always been so outgoing. I’d been one of the youngest gallery managers in San Francisco, for fuck’s sake. And now I managed Trick or Treat, a massive store that hugged the edges of Crescent Cove.
Ever since that damn fire—I was afraid of every-damn-thing.
Sheba, my support dog, quietly slipped out from the tiny space she’d curled into while waiting for me. I grabbed her harness, her warm, comforting body moving in tightly against mine.
Mike glanced down, surprise lighting his eyes.
Sheba placed her chin on my thigh, staring up at me with her big silvery-blue eyes. I stroked her fur. “I’m okay.”
She pressed harder, and I knew that it wasn’t just me overreacting. A panic attack was imminent.
CJ, well-accustomed to my therapy dog’s reactions, stepped forward. “Hi, Mike. It’s nice to meet you, finally.” She held out her hand. “C’mon, sit with us. We won’t bite.”
Mike frowned, but he shook her hand. “Hi.”
Sheba nudged me again and I gave my apologies once more, then I headed for the door.
For escape.
“Lyric!”
Jensen’s voice rose behind me. I turned and his eyes, intent and so dark, locked with mine. My heart throbbed, echoing in my head. I shook my head, then I followed Sheba through the people.
A gregarious guy with shoulders the size of a wall bumped me. He turned, apology in his eyes as he cranked up the watts on his smile.
Interest lit his expression.
I simply slid around him, tangling my fingers in Sheba’s dense, multicolored fur. She was trained to find the easiest way through a room, to stay close to me, to bring down my heart rate when a panic attack loomed.
Annoyed that I’d fallen straight back into this crap, I braced myself for thevestibule crammed with people.
Fresh air was just beyond it.
I could do this.
I’d done it so many times.
Too many times.
Sheba circled my legs, hugging one side then the other, leading me through the throng of people to the front door. To the safe, crisp winter air.
She led me down the stairs.
Distant laughter dented the padding that was growing around me. My neck swiveled as I spotted a group of customers bundled into their coats as they bumped against each other in that way of friends.
I missed that.
I’d been enjoying that not ten minutes ago.
Quickly, I pulled on my jacket, ducked around a car, and crouched down, burying my face in Sheba’s dense fur. The lavender scent of her grounded me in the moment. Her sandy and white fur swam into focus under the parking light lamps. She tucked her head onto my shoulder and slowly, the panic subsided, leaving me exhausted.
“I thought I was good today, Sheba.”
She whined softly and circled between my crouched knees to sit in the vee of my legs. I linked my arms around her lightly and sighed.
I’d been excited to go out with my sister and Colette. I’d even dug into the back of my closet for something pretty. Working at Trick or Treat allowed me to enjoy my all-black wardrobe. Not that I’d gone outside the color scheme tonight, but I’d chosen a flowy top that didn’t suit climbing all around the store I managed.
Since Trick or Treat had been so damaged, the owner had gone with a complete remodel. Which was why I could still work there. There were enough changes to the layout that memories didn’t assault me every minute. It was an old industrial warehouse, and Nolan Devereaux had decided to gut the whole damn thing, allowing me to revamp the whole place.
It was the only thing that had helped me get through my rehab.
I winced as the crouched position soon reminded me I was still healing. I’d had surgery on my ankle due to my fall, and the cold weather made the damn thing throb.
After giving Sheba one last ruffle, I stroked her silky ears before I stood. I wrapped her leash around my wrist, even though it was more performative than necessary. She’d never leave my side.
Not just because she was trained never to do so, but because she loved me unconditionally. The same went for me. There was little doubt that she’d saved my sanity.
And my therapy dog was the reason I could return to Trick or Treat after the renovations.
Both Trick or Treat and I were in a new iteration.
I opened the door to my Jeep, letting Sheba hop up first. She went right into her soft-sided bed in the back seat. I hooked her in, then I climbed into the front. An array of ducks on the dash in various costumes made me smile as I started the engine.
I relaxed in my space, taking a few deep breaths as the car warmed up.
My phone buzzed in my jacket pocket.
I took it out, finding a half dozen texts.
CJ:
You good?
Do you need me?
Colette:
We can come with. Wine and jammies sounds like a good time to me.
CJ:
Just let me know you’re okay.
Mike:
Can we try again? I’d really like to see you.
CJ:
Ly?
Quickly, I replied to my sister, letting her know I was just heading to my apartment.
Sheba gave a little whine from the back.
“I’m good. I promise.”
She sighed and rested her head on the side of the plaid bed.
Back to the apartment. Where I always was.
I’d been chatting with Mike on one of the dating apps. I’d been tempted to try the new HEA app, but I knew myself. I wasn’t ready for anything long-term right now. Not after my disastrous year.
I just knew that I needed to find a way to get myself out of this endless funk.
But instead of Mike London’s sharp blue eyes taking over my thoughts, it was another man’s who haunted me.
The dark eyes I’d been avoiding for months and months.
Jensen .
His angular face, deep soulful brown eyes, and distractible, lush mouth that tipped into a crooked smile so easily chased me into dreams. In my head, his teasing smile and sharply intelligent expression swiftly morphed into sweaty fear and horror as he reached down for me.
Never being able to grasp my outstretched hand.
Flames licked around me.
Smoke suffocated me.
The leather of my steering wheel squeaked at my grip.
Not now.
I would not fall back down into that pit, metaphorically or in dreams.
In fact, there would probably be very little sleep tonight to even worry about.
I put the Jeep into reverse and slowly backed out of my spot. To distract myself, I flicked on my music. The pounding drums and guitars of SLAVES poured out of the speakers as I made my way back into town.
I lived in the new apartments a few blocks away from the Main Street and a quick drive from The Cove steakhouse. Thanks to my sister moving in, we’d decided to upgrade to a two-bedroom, two-bathroom unit. Cove Meadows had a number of small and large buildings, but we’d lucked out on one of the cozy four-unit ones. Even better, we actually liked our neighbors.
Everything was quiet and calming by design.
My haven.
I parked in my spot near the door. The property manager had taken pity on me because of the boot I’d lived in for months on end.
Before I got lost in those difficult thoughts, I got out and released Sheba, who stared a hole into me with her silvery blue eyes.
“Okay, okay.” I ruffled her head and followed her over to the mini dog park across from my building. She nosed a ball my way and I grinned. “You deserve a little play after working so hard for me.” I winged it down the long track and she took off.
Sheba was a Sheltie and required very little playtime. But she did love a good romp in the snow. We’d gotten a few inches the day before on top of the half foot over the weekend, and she was blissfully batting the ball around like a cat.
She brought it back to me a few times to throw, but mostly, she just liked rolling around in the snow. Playing with her helped shake off the last of the panic attack and pushed back the headache trying to creep in.
My feet were frozen by the time I herded my little angel out of the park after she did her business, and I aimed her toward our building. I skipped the elevator for the stairs, following Sheba’s fluffy butt. She waited impatiently as I unlocked the door before darting inside. Her nails clicked on the hardwood floor then the homey sounds of her settling—not one, not two, but always three circles—then she sat down to cross her paws and wait for me.
I tapped in our security code on the panel inside my door, ordered lights on in the kitchen and living room, then immediately, I went to the fridge for Sheba’s food. Her tail was swishing, but she was patient as I portioned out her dinner. The routine of it evened out the rest of my frayed edges.
I set down her bowl and gave her the go ahead.
With a sigh, I kicked off my boots, trading them for house shoes. I made a stop at my stereo, selecting a Billie Eilish album to fill the silence.
Our apartment was open concept with our dining area flowing into our living room all painted in a soft gray. We had a sliding back door that led to our balcony and two bay windows that looked over the back of the property.
Sheba happily wolfed down her high-end food as I cleaned up the kitchen. Our apartment was spacious, with a big kitchen island that tended to be a dumping ground for all our crap. I thumbed through the stack of mail, half of it hitting the circular file then I opened a few packages that had come in for me.
Spending all my time alone wasn’t good for my credit card.
Not that I was hurting for money. Nolan had already given me a healthy salary to run Trick or Treat, but after the fire, he’d been far too generous. Paying me double my salary for the recovery time and the guilt. Not that it was his fault we’d had the fire.
In fact, we’d had a small fire in the basement of the store a few weeks prior to the big one, but Nolan had hired an electrician to fix it. Unfortunately, there had been far more issues with the ancient wiring.
And hidden structural damage that didn’t show itself until the major fire that had destroyed Trick or Treat.
Nolan had raged that so many things had been missed during the code inspection. I knew it was a mix of his guilt and fear that had created the rage. I’d never blamed him for what happened, but I did appreciate that he’d taken care of me. He’d even paid our part-timers a month’s worth of severance.
Gideon, Nolan’s brother-in-law, had overseen the rehab.
It had taken longer than he was happy about, but everything had been done right. We’d even upgraded to clean energy, thanks to a collaboration with a pretty famous architect who lived nearby. Kainoa N’ai was all about his adopted community in nearby Turnbull, and he’d been intrigued enough by the old warehouse enough to jump in.
Nolan had the money—and then some—so he’d decided to go ahead with the expansion since it had become a full gut job, which had eased a lot of my fears. Not only were we adding more candy and Nolan Devereaux’s artwork, but we were also building on an artisan space for both food and art of all kinds.
It was a dream job, and reconfiguring things had required a lot of juggling of management.
One of the reasons I preferred coming home to the quiet was because I was exhausted by the end of the day. But it was a good kind of exhausted.
It was becoming exactly what I wanted.
Slowly.
I was pretty sure Nolan’s guilt had allowed me to do far more than any other boss would have tolerated. I would prove that my vision was exactly what Crescent Cove needed. The town brought in tourists for the lake and the specialty shops that lined Main Street.
A new tech plaza was also luring people to town. Tech meant attracting the moneyed set as well as the middle class, and I wanted both to be able to afford to walk through our doors.
But that was enough reminiscing about where I had been. The future was where I was headed.
I tried to ground myself in the now by singing along to Billie’s ethereal voice, only mangling a few of the notes as I put away the endless line of cups we used during the week. Between my sister’s obsessive water addiction—that meant she needed all the pretty stainless-steel tumblers—and my coffee addiction, we always had a strainer full of cups.
After tidying up and wiping down the counters, I finally padded my way down the hallway, stripping out of my going-out clothes. I hopped in the shower to wash off my anxiety and cleaning sweat, then I did my nightly routine of skincare and lotions before slipping into my cozy clothes.
It wasn’t even seven o’clock and I was alone.
Again.
I checked my phone and smiled at the selfie CJ had sent over of her and Colette. The bar looked as if it was hopping
Evidently, they’d decided to stay at the bar instead of going to a table.
I couldn’t count the number of times I’d done the same when I’d first come to Crescent Cove. Most of the town shut down around dinner time save for the food establishments—which meant hanging at a few of the bars around town when I hadn’t wanted to go home after Trick or Treat closed.
Originally, I’d cultivated quite a number of friendships both in Kensington Square and Crescent Cove, but after the fire...I’d just let so many of them go.
I’d curled into myself after the long road of healing and PTSD strangled all the fun out of me.
Not to mention the endless skin grafts in the burn unit as well as surgeries to put my shattered ankle and foot back together.
CJ had come, no questions asked. She’d moved her life from San Francisco to Crescent Cove and taken care of me. Put me back together and helped me through the worst of the trauma of the fire.
And here I was, back at the apartment.
A dozen steps forward resulting in at least five back.
I padded into my bedroom and settled into my reading chair. Sheba was already on my bed, a cute little shrimp shape with her nose tucked under her tail.
I pulled my E-reader off the shelf above my head. It was time to check out.
At least no one could hurt me in a book.