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“Collins Cartwright,” she said. “Fuckup extraordinaire and indiscriminate pepper-sprayer.”
Sweetwater Peak is a town built on chipped paint and cigarette butts and things that go bump in the night. It’s also fluffy white clouds and saltwater taffy and mountain breezes.
I was a stranger to feeling bad for a man—men in general, honestly. Especially for something I did to them. Normally, I wouldn’t think twice about it.
It wasn’t creepy to stare at her if she was lurking outside my shop like a weirdo. I didn’t get a chance to look at her last night, but now I know she probably would’ve blinded me either way. I don’t know which one I would’ve preferred.
How’s your heart?”
If I’d learned anything over the past four days, it was that Collins was fucking nutty. I swear, she talked nonstop. But not to me…and seemingly not to anyone. She was constantly muttering while she was working, and at night, I swore I could hear her on the other end of the apartment getting into it with some imaginary fiend.
Nutty…and pretty.
“This town is held together by grudges—grudges and chewed-up gum, Brady. It’s part of our weird little ecosystem.”
“I’d rather get thrown off a cliff than live to be a hundred, and if it’s all your fault because of your insistence on the damn hugs, I’m bringing you with me.”
I did not peek through my fingers…on purpose, anyway.
“Collins, did you bring me to a murder house?”
“You brought me to a murder house!” “Again, it’s an accidental murder house.” Brady’s eye twitched. “And we’re not hanging out in the murder area. We’re going to the attic.” “Yeah, because the attic in a murder house is so much better.” “Isn’t it, though?”
Most of all, I liked the way he looked at me like I was a puzzle he was dying to solve instead of one he wished he could put back in the box.
“So first, you took me to a structurally unstable church, then a literal murder house, and now you’re telling me you brought me to a place with sinister ghosts?”
Everything felt bigger and more substantial with her around—like my world was dialed up to eleven.
“I think I like you bossy,”
“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice breathy. “Flustering you for a change,” he said. “Well, someone thinks highly of himself, doesn’t he,” I grumbled. “Tell me it’s one-sided, then.” He leaned down, so his head was near my ear. “Tell me it’s just me.” I was about to tell him just that. I was fine with lying—good at it, even—but when I opened my mouth nothing came out. “That’s what I thought.”
“I love a man who begs,”
Fuck, I was down bad.
“So it’s you and me, then?” she asked, her hands in my hair. I turned my head and kissed the inside of her wrist. “You and me,” I agreed.
