I nod. Not a lie. I did. Mal, on the other hand…

“Seems like you two patched things up.” He rubs his thumb across my cheek.

“Hardly.” I kiss his chin. “But we no longer want to kill each other, I think.”

“Good. I want you well and alive for the next seven decades,” he says.

“Are you still okay with me doing this?” Am I?

“’Course. Not only is he married, but he is also an utter weirdo. Why would anyone be attracted to such bizarre behavior?”

He snorts, and I catch myself, biting my lower lip so I don’t say anything.

He looks around, shrugging. “Crib could use a bit of a facelift, too. Yeah, you know better than to go with someone like that, love.”

Callum tugs me toward the front door, holding my hand. Outside, his cab is already waiting, engine revved up. The driver gets out and flings Callum’s bag into his trunk. I rise on my tiptoes to kiss him again. I expect our usual peck goodbye, but to my surprise, Callum grabs the back of my neck, dips his head, and crashes his lips against mine. I open my mouth for his tongue and groan into the kiss, which deepens with each second and feels nothing like our usual kisses.

I don’t know how much time passes before his lips desert mine, but the driver is honking his horn and throws an impatient arm out the window.

When Callum finally breaks away, it’s not me he’s looking at. He’s staring behind my shoulder, an easy smile on his chiseled face. I turn, already dreading what I’m about to see.

Mal.

Standing at his front door, like Kathleen did all those years ago when we’d kissed, only he doesn’t look shattered beyond repair.

He looks nonchalant and smug and delicious and…smiling? Why is he smiling back at Callum?

Like the confession never happened.

Like we didn’t share a moment.

Like he knows something I don’t.

My stomach clenches and twists. The knots grow like a rubber ball rolled in thorns.

Mal fishes something from his pocket and motions for me to take it.

“Here, wipe your mouth.”

I don’t move. This could be a trick. He’s been hateful before.

“Rory,” he coaxes. “Truce?”

Rory.

Are we back on good terms? I’m still not a fan of him bossing me around. I take a few steps toward him and grab whatever it is he holds out for me, my eyes narrowing into slits. His mouth quirks up in one corner, and it reminds me that before he was a jerk, he was the guy who captured an entire street with his guitar and charm.

“Oh, ye of no faith. Is it illegal to be nice where you live?”

“No, but it might as well be. I live in New York.”