“I’ve got a drive ahead. I can’t drink.”
Even so, he pours the amber liquid into both glasses.
“You’ll need it,” he says, sitting beside me.“So. What do you want to know?”
His eyes bore into me, blazing like a bonfire. Nervous, I start bouncing my foot. My fingers trace circles on my forehead.
“I don’t even know what I don’t know,” I admit honestly.
Suddenly, he grabs my wrist and yanks my arm away from my face, stopping me from scratching at my skin.
“Guess that little tic stuck around,” he says.
“I always did that?”
Again, the corner of his mouth lifts. A small smile plays on his lips.
“At least since I’ve known you,” he replies, taking a sip from his glass.
“You own the shop?” I ask finally.
He takes a longer drink.
“Yeah.”
“Your name is Arès? Arès Clark?”
Surprised, he raises an eyebrow. The glass hovers at his lips—those lips, distractingly perfect.
“You remember me?”
“No. I don’t remember anything... I just searched Maple Creek online and found your shop. By the way, you’re missing a photo of yourself on the website.”
He makes a strange sound, still staring at me.
“Still as snarky as ever,” he says, smiling a little more.
Oh, fuck. He’s even more attractive when he smiles like that. What must his real smile look like?
“And you’re still as grouchy, I guess?”
His brows twitch before he nods.
“Guess nothing’s changed.”
“Does the FBI know you’re here?”
Caught off guard, I set my glass down and tilt my head.
“What do you know about that?”
“Plenty. So… do they?”
“Yeah. Robert encouraged me to come here. He saw I wasn’t happy the way things were.”
His eyes darken.
“The way things were?”