“No,” I said quickly, then dropped my gaze. “It’s not that. My boyfriend…” I took a breath and lowered my voice so it wouldn’t break. “I just lost my boyfriend, and they both think I’ll jump into bed with the first guy to come into the church simply to fill the ache he left behind.” A fear that is both understandable and at the same time unnecessary.

Marshal shifted his weight back. “The guy that went over the bridge?” he asked quizzically. “I thought you didn’t like him.”

“Not him,” I said, flicking my eyes to his and away. “My boyfriend after him. Kisten was…important to both Ivy and me. He died to prevent an undead vampire from binding me to him…I don’t remember it, but I know he did. And I still…” I closed my eyes, a lump in my throat. “I still miss him,” I said miserably.

I looked at Marshal, needing to see what he thought. His face was carefully blank of expression. “He died?” he said, and I nodded, looking away.

“I think I understand,” he said as he reached to touch my shoulder, and guilt tweaked through me as I soaked in the support radiating from him. “I’m really sorry about your boyfriend. Um…I didn’t know. I should have called before coming over. I’ll just, uh, go.”

His hand slipped away, and my head came up. “Marshal,” I said, reaching to take his sleeve, and he stopped. I let go, then glanced behind me at the empty church, then back to him. I loved Kisten, but I had to try to start living again. The pain would ebb only if I pushed it out with something good. Marshal patiently waited, and I took a deep breath.

“I’d like to see you again,” I said, miserable. “If you want. I mean, I really can’t handle having a boyfriend right now, but I’ve got to get out of this church. Do something.” His eyes widened, and I blurted, “Never mind.”

“No, no!” he said. “That’s cool.” He hesitated, then shrugged. “To be honest, I’m not looking for a girlfriend either.”

I kind of doubted that, but I nodded, grateful he pretended to understand.

“There used to be a place by the waterfront that had really good pizza,” he offered.

“Piscary’s?” I almost panicked. Not Kisten’s old dance club. “Uh, it’s closed,” I said, which was the truth. The elaborate apartments underground were now the property of Rynn Cormel. And since he wasn’t a partier, he had gutted the upper rooms and turned them into a day residence for his living guests and staff. But it still had one hell of a kitchen. Or so Ivy said.

Weight shifting to one foot, Marshal frowned in thought. “Don’t the Howlers have an exhibition game this week? I haven’t seen them play in years.”