Page 65 of Tragic (Lark Cove 3)

The right thing to do would be to tell her no and not make her my pie slave. But there was no way I’d be turning down regular pies. Especially if they were anything like the rest of the food she made.

Piper settled deeper into her chair, bringing her coffee mug to those soft lips. I bet they tasted like the cinnamon roll frosting. The idea of running my tongue over the contours of her mouth made my cock jerk.

Even with a hangover, he was raring to go.

But that’s not what we were anymore. We were neighbors, nothing more.

Piper looked so comfortable today. She was wearing green leggings and a loose-fitting long-sleeved black tee. Her legs were crossed, and instead of those fancy heels she normally wore, today she was in some plain, white tennis shoes.

She was even slouching for a change, and it was nice to see her so relaxed in her chair.

Her chair.

Her. Chair.

“Oh, fuck!” I flew out of my seat, spinning around for the front door. I ripped it open and stepped out into the mess on my porch. My hands dove into my hair as my eyes bugged out.

Piper may have cleaned the inside of my house, but she’d left the disaster outside for me to handle.

“Sonofabitch.” The headache that those cinnamon rolls and cups of coffee had chased away was rearing its ugly face.

“Apparently, that chair was much too short,” Piper deadpanned as she stepped outside with both of our coffee cups. She handed me mine, then took a seat in the chair I hadn’t killed.

My eyes stayed glued to the carnage. “What the fuck was I thinking?”

“That using a hatchet would have taken too long?”

I frowned. “Smartass.”

“Sarcasm is my weapon of choice. Unlike some people I know, who prefer to wield chainsaws against innocent lounge chairs for being the wrong size. A half inch was the problem, if I remember.”

“I’m a perfectionist.”

“Nooo,” she gasped, clutching her heart.

A chuckle escaped my mouth. “What a damn mess.”

“Yeah, you did a number on that poor thing. I’m just glad you didn’t cut off your leg or arm in the process.”

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” My eyes whipped to her in a panic, scanning her from head to toe.

But she waved me off. “I’m fine.”

My shoulders sagged, and I walked over toward the porch stairs, sinking down in the same spot where I’d sat just last night with Piper. Only this time, instead of resting my head in her lap and staring into the forest, I sat sideways to face her.

Last night was coming into sharper focus, as were my drunken ramblings.

In my inebriated haze, I’d opened the door to my past. She had every right to an explanation, and a small part of me wanted to confess it all right then and there. Would things be easier between us—easier for me—if I finally unburdened how I’d come to live here in this forest?

No. I wasn’t ready. Those memories had been bottled up for too long. Even after three years, the pain was crippling. Once I told the story, I’d no doubt get angry. And I didn’t trust myself around her when I was in a rage.

Just look at what I’d done to her chair.

“About last night and what I said. I know I owe you an explanation, but—”

“Kaine.” She cut me off. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Really?”