Page 14 of Guarded Knight

And yet somehow, she’s still the only person who comes to mind.

You can’t have her, G.

I’m here in Echo Valley to see if I can settle in one place. See if I can stop running. And now to do a job.

I cross the room slowly, giving her plenty of time to float away from me like she has so many other times when I struck up courage to try to talk to her.

She stays, and my heart feels like it weighs a million pounds.

We stare at each other with thin-lipped smiles, and Freya slinks off to the side before Lara can introduce her. I already know enough about Freya Johnson from Xander’s information anyway.

Right now, I just can’t believe Lara is making full on eye contact and not bolting.

“Everything all right upstairs?” I ask.

She glances at me sideways and ignores the question. “Who knew Luis Mendez was a smut enthusiast?”

Then she eyes the pastries like she’s deciding which one to take. As if being this close to me hasn’t even registered. Ten years of cold shoulders and scant waving. Ten years of her making it clear she wants nothing to do with me, and now, we’re casually hanging out at the Smut Society like two avid readers.

She turns to the sangria pitcher. “Now… is it happy hour yet?” She spins back to face me and pins me with that mouthy stare. “Oh. Nope. Not yet.”

Everything in my body is tight with yearning. I want to chase another sharp word. Another taste of that sweet banter because it feels like how we used to be.

“There’s tequila in the sangria. Might even be moonshine. I’d leave it.”

She lifts a brow. “That explains why everyone’s smiling like they just met their book boyfriend in the flesh.” Her arms cross, but it’s not armor. Not quite. More like she doesn’t know what to do with her hands. “Are you always this talkative at book clubs, G?”

She’s standing closer than she has in years. But there’s the same wall in her posture I’ve hit before. But at least she’s talking to me, and if I recall, she doesn’t bother slinging insults at people who don’t matter.

I hold her gaze. “Only when I’m trying not to say the wrong thing.”

“Here’s a strategy.” She cocks her head. “Stop talking.”

There’s a pause. Her mouth twitches, not a smile, but not a warning either. And I tell myself not to take it as an invitation.

Lara shifts her weight, jacket sliding off one shoulder. It’s casual. But my brain short-circuits at the sight of her milky round shoulder.

She’s fuller. Stronger. Softer, too. And damn if my heart doesn’t flutter like a kid’s. She looks healthy.

Alive.

And for one quiet second, I let myself feel it.

Relief. Wonder. Gratitude that someone created that miracle medicine.

She’s thirty-four…

Focus, G.

“Can we talk?”

She lets out a dramatic sigh that’s half kidding, half exasperated. “Do we have to?”

I nod toward the side door. “Five minutes? Outside?”

Her defeated posture tells me she’s regretting it already… but she follows anyway. The bell above the door jingles as we step into the fading daylight.

She makes a beeline for the hammock and drops into it. One foot barely reaches the ground, she’s so petite, but she gets herself swinging lazily, like there’s nothing serious going on.