Page 2 of To Regret a Raven

She jumped when Fisher turned abruptly in his seat and grabbed her hand once more. “Listen to me, Drie. You are truly,trulymy best friend. This iskillingme.” He paused to flinch at her scoff, then plowed forward. “I don’t want to lose you completely, but I couldn’t keep us going in a relationship when I wasn’t feeling the same. It was unfair to you. And I know it’s something people say all the time and don’t mean, but Idomean it. I am your friend, always, and I hope you will still be mine.”

“What you’re asking is unfair,” she whispered around the realization that he was right. He was her best friend as well. But how could he want her to accept a friendship, knowing that she had deeper feelings? The idea alone was humiliating.

He nodded jerkily. “I know that too. I’m an asshole, but I’m an asshole who is still shamelessly asking you not to cut me out entirely. I want to be friends when you’re ready.”

“You meanif.”

“When.”

She took in the determined pinch to his lips and furrowed brow and nodded, if for nothing else than to simply escape the absolute nightmare of their conversation. Her tone was monotonous as she agreed. “Sure, Fisher. When. I’m going inside now. Get home safe.”

“Drie—” he started, but the rest of the sentence was cut off by the snap of the truck door shutting behind her. Drie heard his door open as she punched in the code for the building, and it spurred her into a near sprint as she crossed the lobby to the elevator.

Taking what felt like her first deep breath since she’d sat down in his truck, Drie glanced over her shoulder to spot him standing on the other side of the locked entrance, looking as lost as she felt. She held his eyes as the ancient doors slowly creaked shut. Then she pulled her phone out of her pocket with trembling fingers and returned the missed call.

“Drie? You okay, babe?” Her eldest sister’s voice was soft and warm, splintering the numbness and causing the tears to rise swiftly.

She swallowed a sob, leaning back against the paneled elevator wall.

“No,” she answered brokenly. “I’m not okay.”

1

BLUE EYES

FEBRUARY 2016

It washer.

The tiny brunette from the library who huddled away in the corner study desk every Tuesday afternoon and Friday morning.

She was sitting on one of the old wooden swings by the edge of the river, just off the walking trail. Fisher slowed to a stop, his eyes locked on the quiet woman who had held his focus captive for months.

It was cold that morning—too cold to be outdoors—but he’d felt driven to get out of the apartment, to take a walk through the park, and now…He couldn’t help but think that this was the reason why.

A light dusting of snow covered the ground as fat flakes floated past, snagging on bare tree limbs and twisted bushes. The wind changed, and the snow moved west, disappearing into the churning water below. Fisher shivered, rubbing his hands together as he debated his next move.

He’d made three attempts to talk to her at the library over the past five months.

The first time she’d walked through the library doors, he had been standing on the customer side of the circulation desk, instructing the newest hire on how to scan in the overnight bin.

That was, until she’d stepped inside and every coherent thought fled his brain.

She was ethereal, like a fairy. Her shiny curls fell back behind her shoulders as she scanned her surroundings, taking in his safe haven as if it were the eighth great wonder of the world. The look of bliss on her face only served to narrow his focus until it felt like the axis of his very being shifted, pointing him toward his new north.

His father had always told him that falling in love felt like getting hit by a wrecking ball. But this didn’t feel like taking a punch. This felt like…melting. Like he’d gotten a glimpse of Eden, and heknewthat it was right. That it was safe. Then she turned his way, their eyes clashed, and Fisher’s mind turned to liquid, right along with the rest of him.

She approached, offering him a soft smile and a curious nod before turning her attention to the new kid behind the counter.

“Excuse me,” she said. Even her voice was gentle, though a note deeper than Fisher expected. “Is there a designated area where I could sit for a while? To study?” she asked, tilting her head toward the thick backpack hanging from one shoulder.

“Yes. There are desks along the back wall in that direction.” The kid pointed. “But if you want to book a study room—” He trailed off, his gaze sliding to Fisher for direction.

“I will, uh, need your number,” Fisher announced, a touch too loudly.

She turned, her brows drawing together. “I’m sorry?”

“For my list.”