Chapter Three: Never Say What You Don't Mean

Harlan came in at seven twelve. Same order. Same twenty on the counter. Same green eyes that scanned the room before they found her.

But today he stayed.

He took the coffee to the back corner booth, sat down, and opened his phone. He didn't look at Josie. He didn't need to. She could feel him the way you feel someone watching you from across a dark parking lot. That prickle on the back of your neck. That animal awareness that says something is looking at you and it knows exactly what you are.

She wiped the counter. She reorganized the syrup bottles. She refilled the napkin dispensers. She did everything she could think of that would keep her behind the counter and not walking over to that booth.

She walked over to that booth.

"Refill?"

He looked up. His phone screen was dark. He hadn't been reading anything. He'd been sitting there with a black coffee and a dark phone screen and he'd been doing what? Thinking? Waiting?

"Sure." He pushed the cup toward her. His fingers brushed hers when she took it. His hand was warm. Not human-warm. Warmer. Like he'd been holding a mug of something hotter than coffee.

She poured. He watched her pour. She set the cup down.

"You texted me last night," she said.

"I did."

"That was forward."

"I know."

"Most people start with hello."

"I'm not most people." He took a sip. Set the cup down. Looked at her with those green eyes that were too green, that had a quality to them like light filtered through a forest canopy. "I'm going to say something, and I want you to hear all of it before you respond."

"OK."

"Never say what you don't mean." He held her gaze. "Not to me. Not to anyone. But especially not to me. Words have weight. Some words more than others. If you say something to me, I'll believe it. I'll hold you to it. So make sure you mean it."

Josie stared at him. The coffee shop was empty. Patsy was in the back. The espresso machine hissed softly, the only sound.

"That's a lot of pressure for a refill."

A smile. Just barely. A crack in whatever cold thing his face was made of. "I know."

"Are you always like this?"

"Always."

"Then I'll be careful." She turned to walk back to the counter. She made it three steps.

"Josie."

She stopped. Didn't turn around.

"I like your boots too."

She walked back to the counter. Her face was hot. Her hands were steady, which was wrong, because the rest of her was not.

Patsy came out, looked at her, and said, "Honey, your cheeks are red."

"It's warm in here."

"It's sixty-eight degrees."

"Then I'm menopausal at twenty-seven."

Patsy cackled. Josie pulled a card. The Magician. Will. Power. The ability to make things happen.

She thought about what he'd said. Never say what you don't mean. Who talks like that? Who walks into a coffee shop and lays down a rule like a foundation, like he's building something and he needs the ground to hold?

A man who owns half of downtown, she thought. That's who.

At two-thirty, Dane came in. Same order. Same honey latte. Same amber eyes.

He sat at the front window, not the back booth. He watched the street. He watched her. He didn't pretend to do either.

"You look tense," he said when she brought his latte.

"Long day."

"You've been here since six."

"How do you know that?"

He smiled. It was a big smile, the kind that made his whole face change. "I don't sleep much. I walk by here on my way to the office. I see the lights on."

"You walk? Mr. Private Equity walks to work?"

"I like the street. I like knowing what's on it." He took a sip. "I like knowing who's on it."

She leaned against the window frame. "You and Harlan Voss. You both come in here like you own the place."

Something changed in his face. Small. A tightening around the eyes. Gone in a second.

"You know Harlan?"

"Know of him. He comes in every morning. Seven twelve."

"Right." Dane set the cup down. Turned his ring with his thumb. The symbol on it caught the light. "He does that."

"You two know each other?"

Dane looked at her. Really looked. The same way Harlan had looked at her, that too-long look that felt like being x-rayed.

"Everyone knows everyone in Ash Harbor," he said. "It's a small city with a big ego."

He finished his latte. Left a ten. Walked out.

That night, Josie dreamed of a room underground. Stone walls. Two men standing across from each other. One blonde, one dark. They were talking, but she couldn't hear the words. She could only see their mouths. One said something that made the other laugh. Not a good laugh. A dangerous one.

She woke at four in the morning with the word "claimed" on her lips. She said it out loud in the dark, to no one, to the ceiling, and then she pressed her hand over her mouth like she could take it back.

On the windowsill, the black feather was gone.