Mike grinned. “It’s not a desk, Ar, and it gives me a better chance at making Detective.”

“But you make a good beat cop. You always did.”

Mike nodded thoughtfully. “I know.”

“So, then—why are you settling for this?”

“It’s better pay.”

“That’s crap, and you know it.”

“It’s the way it is, Ar.”

Irritation swam in my jaw as he walked away, tapping a pile of papers against his open palm. I knew the real reason he took a desk job, and it made my stomach twist. The ‘cop’ in Mike must’ve been screaming out for some action, but he’d deny himself that, under the guise of a better career, just to stick around for me.

The front door closed as the notes in my song reached it, and only once the subtle chimes of a lullaby music-box made me smile, I realised what I was playing. I drew my hands quickly from the keys and spun around to soft clapping.

“Ara, that was beautiful.”

I touched between my collarbones. “Emily? You scared me.”

“Sorry. So, did you write that song?”

“No. David did.”

“Didn’t know he went so deep.”

“There’s a lot you didn’t know about him, Emily,” I tried to steal back the hostility in my voice, but it slipped out, landing across Emily’s smile.

She stood beside the piano, tracing her fingertip over the top. “Mike’s teaching me to play—did you know?”

“No, he never mentioned it.” My attempt at sounding softer was successful this time. “That’s really awesome, though. Can you play anything yet?”

“Um, Somewhere Over the Rainbow? But only the notes on this side.” She held up her right hand.

“Well, go on then.” I moved aside for her to sit down.

“Okay. Don’t laugh.”

“Em, I’d never do that.”

Her brow suggested otherwise, but she sat and started playing anyway, a gentle apple smell drifting around her soft blonde hair as it hung loosely between us. Typical for Miss Perfect, she hit each note with a kind of delicacy that made me giggle inside, envious, until she hit the sharp instead of the flat, then took out two notes with the one finger in a spin of nerves, overthinking her mistake.

My envious giggle became a humoured one; she glared at me, dropping her hand into her lap.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh.”

But even Emily couldn’t hold back a little chuckle.

“I’m just happy, Em. I can’t believe you’re learning to play. And you have perfect fingers for it, too.” I took her hand and ran my thumb over her nail. “See, they’re so long and pretty. You’ll make a great pianist.”

“Nah, I’m just humouring Mike. He’s kind of lonely with you avoiding him all the time.”

“I’m not avoiding him—much.”

“He’s not gonna give up on you, you know? He’s not capable of loving anyone else.”

“He just has to. I can’t be with him, and I know that’s hard for you to understand—it’s hard for everyone to understand. But, no one gets what’s in here.” I touched my chest. “No one can feel what I feel.”

“Is it possible, Ara—” she leaned forward a little, taking both my hands as if what she had to say held great significance, “—that maybe I get it? Maybe I know what it’s like to love someone I can never have.”

Guilt enveloped me. Of course she would. She’s a dreamer, a romantic—her shelves are stacked with Nicholas Sparks and Lucy Dillon, and her heart was torn by the Knight brothers before I even knew they existed.

But she never had with Jason what I have—had—with David.

I leaned my cheek on her shoulder and let out a breath. “I do love Mike, you know. I know I hurt him, but it’s for his own good. I just want him to be happy.”

“Yeah, me too.” She stared out the window and rested her head on mine.

Headed across the street to my car, I held the keys out as though I was already by the door, but stopped when I realised I actually was. The road was busy for a Saturday, with cars barely taking time to stop for those on the crosswalk—and I couldn’t remember how I actually got across. I remembered the reason I was going to the car, but not anything after that.

An eerie chill crept over me. I could’ve been hit.

“Hello, beautiful.” Eric popped up next to me.

“I’m not talking to you.” I jammed the key in the lock.

“Hey? Hey? Don’t do that.” He grabbed my arm and turned me to face him, taking my keys out of the door. “Amara, I’m sorry I forced you to drink my blood.”

Now, there’s something you don’t usually hear people say. “You caused a lot of trouble in my house the other day.”

“Sorry. But you’re glad I did it.”

“Was that a question or a statement?”

“I think we both know the answer to that.”

I tried not to smile, also tried not to look at his thumb—the one I so lavishly sucked.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets—saving me from blushing. “So, as an offer of peace, I have info for you.”

“What info?” I tilted my head, softening.

“Promise you’ll come to my gig and I’ll tell you.”

“I thought you said it was a peace offer, not coercion.”

“Call it both.”

He knew damn well I couldn’t resist that cheeky grin, nor could I pass up any possible info about David. “Fine.” I dropped my arms. “I’ll come.”

“Great. Now, sit.” He parked himself on the bench outside the post office, appearing there faster than humanly possible. I, on the other hand, was forced to walk the fifteen-step gap like a dorky, slow human.

“Okay.” I folded my bag against my lap as I sat in the niche of Eric’s arm. “Spill.”

“So, I talked to David’s uncle.”

“Arthur?”

“Yes. He said David had been to the World Council—”

“For an eighty year leave of absence?”

“Yes.” Eric looked puzzled.

“Turns out Mike knows more than he let on.”

Eric sat back a little, the static energy of confusion all around him. “Really? How?”