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Clearly the man who’d been here with him hadn’t mentioned seeing me and I wasn’t sure if that was a relief or something quite the fucking opposite.
I’d be really concerned, actually.
“I called to order a little sympathy,” I groused. “Not a steaming pile of brutal honesty with a side of bitch-you’re-paranoid.”
There’s two kinds of friends.
“Is the oven preheated?” Ruarc asked, a dark brow lifted as he pulled away. I cringed, but laughter filled my throat. “Please don’t call it that.”
In reference to a crematorium.
