“She sounds very special.” Clark certainly couldn’t begrudge Riley for holding on to stories shared by a beloved grandmother.
While they worked to clear their plates, the woman across from him continued to surprise him, to make him laugh. When he asked about her hometown, she described the place simply by enumerating its local culinary delicacies—soft pretzels, roast pork sandwiches with broccoli rabe, water ice (pronounced wooder ice, and which was neither water nor ice but instead some kind of in-between slush), and something called Tastykakes, which sounded truly appalling—and proudly talking about how her city’s sports fans were some of the most hated nationwide. To his surprise, she didn’t think much of cheesesteaks, though she insisted that if he did have one, he should go to Woodrow’s.
She asked him about himself too—about growing up in Manchester and how he’d chosen his specialization in archaeology and whether people had made a lot of Superman jokes when he was growing up, dark haired and square jawed (yes).
The night passed like a dream, everything but Riley blurred into soft focus, the pub emptying around them as visitors went home to prepare for the week ahead.
He paid, though she sincerely tried to get him to split it, suggesting they settle the matter in a thumb war, an offer he indulged purely for the chance to hold her hand. His life could do with an influx of whimsy.
By the time they stepped outside, the sky above was dark as pitch.
“Whoa,” Riley said, tipping her head back. “Get a load of those stars.”
Clark stopped and looked up too, at a scattering of constellations winking down at them. He alternated his gaze between Riley’s rapt face and the wonders above, his belly pleasantly full, crisp air against his hot cheeks.
“I’m really glad I met you tonight,” he said, as if her boldness had rubbed off on him during the meal. Clark didn’t believe in destiny or anything like that. His father had made sure he didn’t believe in anything but determination and grit. But even he could admit this felt—different.
She turned to him, the breeze tugging at the strands of her blond hair. “Do you wanna kiss me?”
Fuck. More than he wanted to keep breathing. But something held him back.
“It’s late,” he said, but didn’t move away.
“Kissing doesn’t have a curfew.” Her voice came out frayed at the edges.
“You don’t know me.” Clark stared at her bee-stung lips, for what felt like the thousandth time and the first, swallowing thickly. “I could be a terrible person.”
“Are you?”
“Sometimes,” he whispered without meaning to, and then, more dryly, “but in any case, you can’t take my word for it.”
This time when she laughed, Clark couldn’t resist. He reached up, slowly, carefully, to cup her jaw. And as her eyes fluttered closed, he closed the distance between them, bending to kiss her. Her lips were petal soft and so warm in contrast to the night air.
Riley dropped her hands to his shoulders and swayed forward, until they were pressed together from the knees up. Clark groaned into her mouth at the contact, the way her body molded to his, tugging her closer, moving one hand to her waist, the other sliding up to curl into her hair.
A moment ago, he’d been able to hear the vague sounds of people stacking chairs inside the pub, the whistle of the wind, but now kissing her drowned out everything else. There was nothing but the growing harshness of their breaths, Riley’s tiny gasp when he sank his teeth softly into the impossible fullness of her bottom lip.
Only the sudden clang of the bell above the door startled them apart.
“Sorry,” Eilean said, looking anything but. “I was worried if I left you out here any longer, you’d freeze together like horny statues.”
Riley laughed while Clark flushed, glad that his long coat hid exactly how much he’d enjoyed that kiss.
“I should get back to the inn and try to go to bed,” Riley admitted. “I’m sure I’m already gonna get rocked by jet lag tomorrow.”
“Right,” Clark said, and Eilean ducked back inside, leaving them to their goodbyes. “How long will you be in town?”
“It’s kind of hard to say.” Riley pressed her lips together, drawing Clark’s eyes back to them until he forced himself to look just over her shoulder for fear of trying to pull her back into his arms. “At least a week.”
A week. It was more than he’d hoped for from her trip to such a small village. “I’d like to see you again, if you—”
“Definitely,” she said before he could finish. “Here.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of card stock, sliding it into his palm. “My information’s on there.”
“Great, thanks.” He watched as she headed back toward the inn, the entrance close enough down the road that he could see it from here.
It wasn’t until she’d slipped inside, looking back once to wave, that Clark lowered his gaze to examine the paper.
Riley Rhodes, he read, Curse breaker for hire.
Chapter Three
Riley hurried down the footpath to the castle the next morning, stumbling on wet cobblestones while chilly mist beaded across her forehead and cheeks. Who knew Scotland was so wet? Her phone’s weather forecast for the week was downright depressing—a solid wall of weeping clouds. Apparently, she was committing to the dewy look for the duration of her stay.
Her meeting with Martin Chen, the project manager who’d hired her, started at eight. A hasty look at her watch read quarter past the hour. Not exactly a great start for someone looking to prove she could handle the big leagues.
Hopefully he’d attribute her tardiness to charming eccentricity. Usually Riley could get away with a fair amount of flightiness by virtue of her occupation. No one trusted an occultist who seemed too put together.
The inn was only about a mile from the castle, but she’d had to hoof it the whole way, paying the price for hitting the snooze button not once but twice this morning. Blame Clark, she thought, smiling to herself. He was worse than the time difference for her sleep schedule. She’d been up half the night, lying in bed with cartoon hearts circling her head. Thinking about his falling-angel grace. How quick he’d been to offer her a book when he learned she was interested in something. She sighed. The way her name sounded in his accent.
It was embarrassing, honestly, going to jelly over a random guy she’d met at a bar, but at least it was the safe sort of mistake. How much damage could a harmless little fling across the pond really inflict on her life?