Things We Never Said (Hart's Boardwalk 3)

“Thing is”—Dermot ran a hand through his hair, an apology in his hazel eyes—“I didn’t exactly tell him you’d be here.”

“But one would assume he’d know that you’re here,” Bailey interjected. She met my horrified gaze. “Still, I wanted to give you a heads-up.”

I glared at my brother to cover the shipwreck of turmoil that was crashing and rolling in my stomach. “But you thought I should feel ambushed?”

“No, I was just worried you’d leave.”

I wasn’t going to lie—the instinct to leave was there.

However, I wasn’t running anymore.

I looked over at the table where Dad, Astrid, and Darragh were laughing together. “I’m not leaving. If Michael is unhappy with me being here, then he can leave.”

Then, right on cue, as if we really were magnets drawn to each other, I felt it when he stepped inside the bar. My eyes moved past Dermot toward the door.

There he was.

Michael wore the same leather jacket I’d seen him in at my dad’s house, with dark jeans, a dark shirt, and black boots. The only thing different was that he’d shaved.

Either way, he was so goddamn handsome, it killed me.

Being at the station with him, in that interview room, so close I could smell his cologne, it had been the worst kind of torture. Until, of course, he’d opened his mouth and gutted me.

Realizing he wasn’t walking into the bar alone, my already fast beating heart started pumping so hard, I thought it might knock itself out of my chest.

He’d brought a date.

She walked confidently at his side. A young, edgy blond with pixie-short hair.

Why was it always a blond?

“He brought a fuckin’ date?” my sister snapped under her breath.

“She looks familiar.” Dermot narrowed his eyes.

Michael’s gaze landed on us at the bar, and when ours met, his didn’t widen with surprise.

He knew I’d be here.

And he’d brought a date.

Bailey’s hand slipped into mine and she squeezed, but her comfort did nothing to hold back the tide of memories. Of the last time he’d been with someone else instead of me. I doubt he regretted the blond the way he’d regretted it all back then. Memories flooded me, soaring me straight back into the past …

Massachusetts College of Art & Design,

Nine and a Half Years Ago

The sound of hammering filled the workshop as me and my fellow metalsmiths worked on our projects for class. The room was warm from the blowtorches we used for the annealing process (heat treatment on the metals to soften them enough to make them workable), so despite the fall weather, I was in a summer dress and biker boots. Mom had given me a hard time about catching a cold, so I’d thrown my winter coat over the dress. Wearing tights while working for hours in a room where multiple blowtorches were in use might make me sweat to death, so I’d foregone them.

Thankfully. Otherwise, I’d be like my classmate, Shauna, who had stripped down to the tank top underneath her sweater because she’d been melting in her knit top and jeans. She still was, I noted, seeing the shimmer of sweat above her top lip.

The heat was worth it to see my jewelry come together. My favorite metal was silver, and I was using it to make a collection for a theater production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. It was part of my final project.

As I hammered the silver frame of the necklace that Titania would wear, I was careful around the inserts where I’d place my peridot gemstones. As a poor student, I couldn’t afford emeralds. Even the much cheaper alternative of peridot was a lot out of my budget, but I was happy with how the stones were turning out for the fairy queen’s jewelry.

Our teacher, Rita, was pretty relaxed. She wandered around the room giving advice, critique, and praise, but ultimately, we could work in our own space at our own pace.

Something made the hair on my neck stand on end like someone was watching me. Slowly, I lifted my head and turned toward the doorway.