‘I went to hand in my notice, you know,’ Ryer continues roughly. ‘The day I found you outside of the fire station, when you were talking to my colleague . . .’ His face darkens, and I instinctively reach out to take his hand in my own, Ryker’s fingers curling around mine possessively as his shoulders relax once more.
‘You asked me why I was there. I went to tell the chief that I was leaving. That I was moving to Maine . . .’
‘W . . . what?’ I stammer.
Ryker’s nods, looking down at our joined hands. ‘As soon as I saw you that day in town, I knew that I wasn’t going to be able to stay away from you. You fell into my arms and, for the first time in ten years, I felt right. I lied to myself for most of Christmas day . . . said to myself that we could be friends. Then, when I left dinner, an
