“You’re very good at this. How about purple or gray, or even black.”

“We may love to wear black, but it’s no one’s favorite color.”

“It could be.”

“I think if someone said their favorite color is black, they’re caught in the idea of it more than the hue because it’s the absence of color. The gray of a cloudy day or the stunning cliffs overlooking the emerald lake out at Devil’s Edge.” She doesn’t notice me bristle or my hand fisting, my breath growing deeper as I try to calm myself. “They say those cliffs sparkle from the water, but I’ve never been on a boat out there to see for myself.”

“They do.” My tone is clipped, which makes me angry. She doesn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of my reaction to mistakes I’ve made.

“Harbor?” Her hand rests on my forearm when my gaze slides from my lap to the woman beside me. Her smile is small and makes me feel worse for making her feel that way. “Are you okay?” Licking her lips, she then drags the bottom one under her top teeth.

“I’m fine. My apologies. What were you saying?”

She doesn’t rush to answer. Instead, her hand gives me a little squeeze before she pulls it back to her lap. “I was rambling.”

“No, you weren’t. I’m sorry. I just . . .” I push up as anger at myself gets the better of me. “I’ll let you study.”

Grabbing my wrist, she stands. “Stay.” Still latched onto me, there’s no room to make excuses, so I stay, unsure of what she wants from me. Her breath has quickened, her chest rising and falling as fast. “What happened? What did I do?”

“No, you did nothing wrong, Lark. I . . .” I look away from her before I’m tempted to caress her cheek, to lean in and kiss the shine from her freshly licked lips. “I got caught up in a past I’ve tried to forget.”

“It was something I said?”

The truth isn’t something that needs to shroud our conversation. She didn’t mean to push my triggers. They’re mine and a fucking annoyance for ruining our time. Despite me escaping the question, I focus on her, the pretty girl, who looks at me like I might have a chance at being someone good, someone she can trust. “I haven’t eaten in hours. Want to go out and get something?”

Her hand falls back to her side as she looks away from me. “I don’t think I can.” I wouldn’t say she’s lying, but she is looking for excuses. I follow her gaze to the mug on the table and remember she couldn’t cover the coffee at the gas station. I’m a dick for putting her on the spot.

I reach over and take hold of her wrist this time and then slide my hand until her palm rests against mine. This connection is different than the ones we’ve shared before. Not less important, but more potent as if I’m being given a second chance. With her, my cousin’s death doesn’t overshadow who I am.