Ronan Pallás glared at us from the other side of the car. He wore a white T-shirt with the name of his bar,Ronan’s Pub, in green over the left breast, jeans, and black matte leatherwork boots. In his mid-thirties, he had his Irish-American mother’s freckles and white skin, and the broad shoulders and muscular build of his Mexican-American father and current alpha leader.
Not only were we around the same age, we also carried the same wariness—mine evident in my sarcasm and standoffish attitude, and his inhissarcasm and secretive nature.
“I wasn’t sneaking. I was trying to catch you before you left. I honestly thought you saw me.” He opened and closed both hazel eyes in an exaggerated blink. “Why were you talking about female homicide?”
“Never mind. Just announce yourself next time.”
“Fine, but I guarantee Cecil knew it was me before he threw that rock. That gnome is a troublemaker.”
“He was protecting us,” I said, as if I hadn’t thought the same thing hundreds of times. “Better watch it. He’s got at least two more rocks and a penny in his pockets.”
Ronan shook his head. “That’s a step up from explosives, I guess.”
I tipped my head toward Cecil and chuckled. “Isn’t it cute how he thinks you aren’t carrying explosives?”
Cecil cackled.
“You’rebothtroublemakers,” he muttered.
“We know. It’s kind of our thing,” I said.
He sighed, raked a hand through his short, auburn hair. “Why haven’t you returned my calls?”
I countered with, “Why are you here? Stalking me?”
“Ah yes, the old, ‘answer a question with a question’ tactic.” His tight smile conveyed annoyance and frustration. “Fine, I’ll bite. I had to drop off some paperwork with my insurance agent around the corner and noticed your car parked here.”
“A likely story. You saw my Mini from all the way over there?”
“It’s neon-fucking-orange, Betty. The International Space Station could probably see it.”
I scrunched my nose. Shrugged. “That’s fair. To answer your question, I haven’t responded to your calls because I’m matching your energy.”
His shoulders drooped the slightest bit. “Betty, it’s not what you think.”
“How would I know what to think? You send me texts before bed every night and yet never respond to mine. Other than right now, we haven’t spoken actual words to each other in a week.” I unlocked the door and set Cecil and my bag inside. “What do you want, Ronan? Is another wolf missing or is there something else I can do for you?”
He pressed his lips into a hard line. “I just wanted to see you, hear your voice.”
“And all those times I texted? I wanted to hearyourresponse.” I slid into the driver’s seat, putting my bag on the floor. Cecil was already in his seat, examining his remaining rocks. “So, congratulations. Now we’re both unhappy.”
I slammed the door and rolled down the window to finish the conversation. Personally, I thought it was done, but Ronan had circled around to my side of the car, so he obviously felt otherwise. Not that his feelings or comfort were uppermost in my mind.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I have reasons, but when I started to tell you them, I realized how they sounded.”
“How did they sound?”
“Like utter shite,” he said, with the slightest accent. A legacy from the late mother he’d so deeply loved.
“Tell me anyway.”
“I will, just not here.”
I looked up at him. He seemed tired and distracted. Matching his energy was only making things worse between us—even if he kind of deserved it. “Ronan, we said we wouldn’t do this. That we wouldn’t freeze each other out.”
“I know. I screwed up.”
It sucked, but I had to admit it. “So did I. I should’ve tracked you down and made you explain instead of getting defensive. I want this to work. This … us.”
