Page 32 of Dark

Half an hour later the timer went off. We ate in the kitchen, standing up, devouring gooey, cheesy slices piled with ham, sausage, mushrooms and black olives.

“I never pictured you as quite so domesticated.”

“Uh, totally making me sound like one of those creepy hairless cats that has to wear the sweaters.”

“Again, with the making fun of our love cat.”

“We are not getting a love cat. You don’t even like cats. You’d probably eat her the first time I didn’t manage to chase you around the couch fast enough with the Dilly Bars.”

I flipped him off. “You know what I mean. You’re the artist. Dallas is the cook.”

“You do get that we’re not the seven dwarves, right?”

“I get that I’d totally rock the goth Snow White look.”

A crease formed in his cheek. “Pretty sure she eats apples. As opposed to my couch.”

“I was hangry.”

“Uh huh.”

Rolling my eyes, I kicked his toe. “And for the record, you know I think what you’ve done with Dark is amazing. The new look. Inviting in local artists for readings. The open mic nights—”

“Some of that stuff hasn’t really taken off yet.”

“My point is you’re helping revitalize the downtown district. Making Blood Moon into more than just a weekend tourist trap for wannabe fang-heads.”

He reached for his Sprite. “Yeah, well. Not everyone sees it the way you do.”

“You want to share with the class?”

He hesitated for a beat, then shrugged. “My dad was cool with me taking over as manager the first couple of years, you know? Figured it was better than me getting into trouble. Let’s just say my decision to quit community college after two semesters didn’t do anything for our relationship.”

I turned the question over in my head for a minute, and finally decided to just come out and ask. “Are you happy?”

“Happy as any of us deserves to be. College wasn’t for me. Mom got it, I think. Ben, well, that’s another story.”

“Do you ever think about renting out studio space, trying to sell some of your art?”

Blinking, he pushed up his glasses. “I don’t know. Right now, I have the shop to run. Brody says it’s mine, you know. At the end of the year. Ben and Sofia set it up before—"

A weighted silence settled over the room. I started to apologize, but before I could, Ethan was putting Daisy Addiction’s latest set list on and starting on the dishes, effectively signaling that for the time being at least, this conversation was over.

I leaned against the counter. “Can Brody trace a phone number?”

“Not without a warrant. Why?”

“Weird call. They never said anything. I could just be freaking out.”

“I’ll text him in a few hours when he’s off duty.”

I traced the scar at his wrist, finger grazing the edge of his leather cuff. Ethan reached for another plate, gently prying free from my grip.

A strange feeling twisted in the pit of my stomach.

“Where did you get your cuff?”

He tensed. “Why?”