Page 55 of Moonshine Kiss
“Your door wasn’t locked,” he told me, crossing his arms over his chest.
“What door?” This was Bootleg Springs. My back door was never locked.
“The one between us.” His face was shadowed in the soft glow of the porch light.
I was tired. Too tired to play any more games. “It’s never been locked, Bowie.”
He swore quietly and toed one of the spindles between us. I knew that to him, tonight had been a mistake. One he didn’t want to repeat.
“So, that’s it then? That’s all it’s gonna be?” I pressed. I wanted him to say the words. “You’re just gonna go back to thinking about me as a little sister.”
We both knew there was nothing little sisterly about what had happened a few short hours ago. But I wanted him to lie to my face. To give me something to hate him for. A reason to give up on him again.
He didn’t answer me, so I stepped closer until the railing pressed against my hips. I grabbed him by the front of the sweatshirt he wore to ward off the chill.
He brought his hands to my shoulders, squeezed. “Cass, honey. We can’t.”
I was tired. That’s why I dropped my head to his chest. That’s why my heart did that stupid tumble when he rested his chin on top of my head. I’d been in his arms twice tonight. And both times had been thoroughly unsatisfying. I wanted more and I hated myself for it.
“I promised,” he said quietly.
“You promised what to who?” I demanded.Whom? Whatever.
“Ask your dad,” he said wearily.
27
Cassidy
“Girl, what are you doing here this morning?” Bex asked as I trudged into the station the next morning. “I thought you’d be sleeping off Gram-Gram’s shitshow at The Lookout.”
I’d intended to catch up on some sleep. Instead, I’d sprawled out on my bed, staring up at the ceiling, thinking about the man on the other side of the plaster and studs. My room was marked by him now. I kept picturing him, bursting into my bedroom, fists closed and ready for a fight. The wall that he pushed me up against, almost shoving himself into me.
It felt like fate. Like it was something that had been written in the stars before either of us were gleams in anyone’s eyes. Destiny. Right.
Ask your dad.
Those words sent my guts to churning. I had a question for my father all right. And I was going to get an answer.
“Sheriff in?” I asked her, ignoring her question.
“In his office.” Bex nodded toward the shoebox my father called an office. My gaze slid to the conference room.
“Connelly’s out today,” she said, reading my mind.
Good. I had a feeling a little family drama was about to play out and I didn’t much care for any outsider audiences.
I headed for Dad’s office and nodded at Bubba, who was watching an epic fail video on YouTube and combing his mustache.
My father was hunting and pecking on his keyboard, his readers perched on the end of his nose.
“Mornin’ sunshine,” he said, taking in the bags under my eyes.
I closed the door and flopped down in the rickety chair in front of his desk. “How’s the Kendall investigation going?” I asked. You couldn’t just ask a direct question to my father. You had to ease him into talking. Get him used to the flow of words leaving his mouth. Warm him up with a topic he was comfortable with.
“Not a whole lot of new information. The blood on the sweater was hers, but they didn’t find any DNA evidence in or around Jonah’s house. Cadaver dogs didn’t catch a whiff of anything on the property either. So far Connelly’s comin’ up with squat on the speeding ticket. There’s nothing in that area that ties to Jonah Bodine, Sr.,” he recapped.
I nodded. Nothing new there. “Anything interesting come up in any of the new interviews?” I hated to think that Connelly had brought in the press and pissed off our entire town for nothing.
