"Sure," he laughed, gesturing vaguely toward the bathroom. "It's behind the door, might be a little narrow though."
I pulled my gaze from the bathroom and took in the rest of it. In the far corner was a small kitchenette. It consisted of a two-burner stove wedged between a pea-green row of cupboards and an old, narrow fridge that sounded like it was dying in real time.
No way I'd be openingthat.
But Ryder thought otherwise. He strode forward and yanked open the fridge's door, revealing a small bottle of no-name mustard, a half-stick of butter, and a single can of off-brand soda.
With the fridge still open, he turned to me with a grin. "Look, something to go with your pastries."
Whether he meant the butter or the soda, it didn't matter. And forget the mustard. I wasn't touching any of it. No, all of this would be going straight into the trash.
As far as the pastries, I still hadn't opened the box, not even during the ride out here. And I didn't mean a car ride. I meant a horse-and-buggy ride. Apparently, people paid good money for such things. But me? I liked a car just fine, thank you very much.
Or better yet, give me a bike. And Ididn'tmean a bicycle. I strode forward and shut the fridge. "Where's the fish?"
"What fish?"
"The place reeks of it."No lie. And I didn't meanfreshfish. I meant fish that had been rotting in the sun – or hell, in somebody's basement.
He grinned. "Hey, Ididsay waterfront."
Waterfront shouldn't smell likethis. But I let it go.No need to encourage him.
Looking smug as hell, Ryder took a leisurely look around. "Just like your place in Chicago. Am I right?"
My jaw clenched.Don't say it.
Don't fucking say it.
But then he did. "Home sweet home."
I glanced toward the nearest Ryder-launching point – the thing that might be called a balcony. Through the grime of the glass patio door, the view beyond was actually kind of nice. Water glittered beyond the dock, boats bobbed in the distance, and…I blinked.What the hell?
A familiar-looking seagull was perched on the balcony railing – not looking out at the water, but inward toward me. More to myself than to Ryder, I murmured, "It can't be the same one."
"The same what?" Ryder asked.
I pointed. "That seagull."
Ryder turned to look. "Yeah, what about it?"
I gave it some thought. "Nothing." There had to be thousands of birds on the island. No way it was the same. I looked back to Ryder.
He was still staring at the bird. His eyebrows furrowed as he asked, "What's it looking at?"
I turned to face it. It was looking atme, that's what. Blame it on the hangover, but I swear, I saw its eyes narrow. To Ryder, I muttered, "Don't ask."
He was quiet for several beats before asking, "So…you ready to quit?"
Once again, I turned to face him. "Hell no."
His eyes flickered with a hint of surprise. "You sure?"
"Positive."
He frowned. "So I've gotta ask, how much moneywasin your wallet?"
I didn't want to say. But hey, a bet was a bet. Grudgingly, I admitted, "Just over three-hundred."
