Well, so much for clearing my head.

This town’s too small, cause here she is all over again.

I’m wiping the grease and the grime off my hands from fixing the tap line I took it upon myself to fix when I first pulled up behind O’Donnell’s.

Ivy’s glaring at me, shaking her head. “I should get going.”

“Didn’t know you’d be here,” I mutter, my eyes locked on hers, dipping down over the swell of those lips, the curve of her jaw, the pulse in the hollow of her neck.

“It’s my brother’s bar, Silas. What are you doing here?”

Her brow wrinkles as she looks at dirty towel in my stained hands - this new clean, primped and manicured version of the small-town girl I used to know with skinned knees and torn jeans.

“Just fixing some stuff for Rowan is all.” I shrug. “Least I could do for him putting me-”

My mouth snaps shut the second I see the dawning realization on her face, but it’s too late.

Oops.

“You’re staying with my brother?” Her jaw drops, her look accusatory.

I shake my head. “No, not at his place with the whole Sarah thing going on.” I jerk my head behind me. “He’s got a cot in the back store room here I’ve been posting up at.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re living at O’Donnell’s?”

There’s something cutting about the words that makes my jaw tense. “I’m not living anywhere in this fucking town,” I growl out. “I told you, I’m just here for-”

“Yeah, no, got it.”

She grabs her bag and the beer off of Rowan’s desk. “Well, I’ve got a lot to do tomorrow for the website,” she waves her hand absently as she glances at her phone. “Shoot for Instagram, some calls to make.” She pushes past me into the hallway, but I turn and snag her arm.

“Look, hang out for one-”

She whips her hair back as she whirls at me, her eyes pulling back to mine, her look fierce. “I don’t have time for grimy dives like this.”

“Hey, you used to love it here.”

We both used to love it here when she and I used to sneak beers up on the roof. And later, when we’d forget all about the damn beers when we’d get lost in each other’s lips.

Except that Ivy is gone, I can see that now. That Ivy wore ripped jeans and my old Sox t-shirts. This one’s wearing fucking heels in a place like this, and that skirt that looks entirely too good on that ass and those legs, with glamorous, bangly jewelry, makeup, and a scowl.

I never saw any of those things on the girl I used to know.

The girl I married.

That girl’s moved on.

“Yeah, well,” she waves her hand again dismissively, in this ridiculous “New York” way.

And then it hits me.

She hasn’t just gotten over me, she’s gotten over this whole damn town- all of it.

She thinks she’s better than all this now, with her stupid fashion crap, her insta-whatever, and all her fake online “friends” and “followers.” She’s forgotten all about the small-town girl I fell in love with all those years ago.

And it digs at me.

Because whatever happened with us, and that night, and then me leaving, this town is still home. This is the home that raised her, and this new big city social media queen version of Ivy is actually starting to piss me off.

“So are we going to do this every time we bump into each other?” I glare at her.

Ivy sighs dramatically. “Well I can’t imagine that’ll happen many more times since I’m leaving this town directly after Dad’s dedication.”

I roll my eyes. “I just figured we should at least talk like normal fucking people, Ivy.”

Her mouth goes tight, her eyes flaring. “About what, Silas? What do we have to talk about?”

“I would think a fair amount.”

“I already told you, I’ve moved past it,” she says, shrugging flippantly. “Yeah, it sucked when you left, but that was eight years ago, and believe me, I’ve moved on.” She holds my gaze a moment longer before she looks away. “I found someone else.”

She says it like it’s meant to cut.

It’s working.

It’s a thought that’s stabbed at me for years, knowing there’d be someone else after me. It was knowing she’d move on eventually and find someone who saw how incredible she was and loved her. And even if they didn’t love her as much as me, hell, they’d at least fucking stay.

At least they wouldn’t turn out to be exactly the criminal she never wanted to be with and live up to every shit expectation the rest of this fucking town had for them.

And I’m no saint. It’s not like I’ve been some sort of celibate monk for the last eight damn years. But none of the others ever meant a damn thing. Basic needs were met, some nice words spoken, some fun times had, and that’s it.

I never let a single damn one of them inside. Because no one ever came fucking close to holding a candle to what I had here all those years ago with this girl standing in front of me, glaring at me while Journey belts out over the bar stereo.

“Right, the surfer.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “What, are you stalking me?”

I bark out a laugh. “You’ve got like a million fucking strangers who follow your shit online, and you’re worried about someone you actually know seeing your boyfriend?”

“He’s not a surfer,” she mutters. “He’s more of a digital nomad.”

I roll my eyes. “Sounds very romantic.”

“It is.”

I shut up.

“Good,” I finally say, my words crisp and my teeth grinding at the thought of her having something like that with whoever this prick is. “Good for you.”

“Yeah, good for me, Silas.”

The women’s bathroom door suddenly swings open, and two girls who I recognize from trying to run wingman for Rowan the other night tumble out, giggling. The brunette catches my eye, grinning as she recognizes me.

“Hey stranger!” She gushes with this annoying wink, stepping right up to me and running a finger up my arm before giving Ivy a stink eye.

“I didn’t even know you were here!”

I frown. “Yeah, I’m- look, I’m sort of in the middle of something.”

“Come dance!” The friend who Rowan was trying to charm the other night says with a booze-soaked smile on her face.

“Maybe later.”

I ignore them as they giggle and trip their way back around the corner to the bar.

Ivy’s lips go tight as her brows shoot up.

“It’s not like that,” I mutter.

She smiles thinly, rolling her eyes. “I’m sure it’s not.”

“Ivy-“

“Silas, it’s exactly what it looks like because you became exactly what everyone said you’d be.”

I can feel my brow furrow. “Oh? And what’s that, sweetheart?”

“A townie.”

She spits it out like it’s this dirty word and I snort. “Got news for you, Ivy. We’re both townies.”

“I left.”

“Yeah, so did-”

I snap my mouth shut, but Ivy barks out a mirthless laugh.

“Doesn’t look like it helped though. Here you are, right back in this fucking bar.” She nods at the backwards baseball hat on my head that I borrowed from Rowan. “You’ve got the townie Sox hat on and everything. Oh and picking up girls like that?”

She jerks her head at the bathroom door.

I fold my arms over my chest. “You done?”

“Hardly.”

I take a step towards her and she moves back, her back against the hallway wall behind her.

“Please, continue. What other wonderful stereotypes have I managed to live up to?”

“Being the thieving liar you were always going to be.”

“I never lied.”

“So is that a ‘yes’ on thieving?”

I say nothing.

Dead on the money.

It was petty shit here, back when we were kids. It was lifting candy from Conlin’s drug store, a bottle of warm beer or two from the loading dock of this place. That all changed with the heist that night, eight years ago.

That’s the night I went from junior varsity to the big leagues in the blink of an eye and the flash of a gun. And I’ve been playing the game ever since, working all sorts of jobs for Declan’s people over in Dublin.

The thing is, I’ve only been great - truly great - at two things in this world.

Taking things that don’t belong to me, and loving Ivy Hammond.

…You could maybe lump that second one into the first.

Ivy snorts at my silence. “Yeah, exactly what I thought.”

“I never lied to you,” I growl, feeling my pulse jump up a notch.

Her eyes dart across mine, her teeth rake across her lip.

“You told me you loved me, Silas.”

Her words are quiet, but icy.

“You told me forever.”

The color rushes into her cheeks, as if she’s embarrassed to admit she remembers that.

I sure as fuck have.

“You told me ‘I do,’” she almost whispers.

I step into her suddenly, pushing her right back into the wall behind her as my hands land on either side of her.

Fuck.

It’s both totally different and exactly the same, being this close to her.

It’s her scent.

She’s got new shampoo, new perfume, and new clothes. But people just smell a certain way, even if you can’t explain it.

And she smells like home.

She always has, and goddamnit, she always will.

She bristles as I close the distance between us, a shiver visibly running through her. Her pupils go wide, her sweet, soft lips part.

And I’m right back to being a kid again.

I’m right back to kissing her on the pier, in my truck, on the roof of this damn bar.

“Step back,” she whispers, her lip trembling and her eyes locked on mine.

“Excuse me?”

She slowly shakes her head. “Step away from me, Silas.”

No fucking way.

Because as much as she’s getting under my skin, and as much as I want to call her this uppity city girl who’s left this small town her rearview mirror, I’m drawn to her like a fucking magnet. I’m glued to those eyes and dying to taste those lips. Being this close to her is like being starving and coming across the best meal you could ever imagine.

Being this close to her is like coming home.

“I need to go,” she says quickly.

“Where.”

She swallows thickly. “I need to call my boyfriend.”

I grin. “Now is he aware that you’re a married woman?”

Her eyes glare daggers at me.

“Don’t think I won’t throw this beer in your face, because I will.”

I wag my brow. “Beer, huh? I thought you were this big health nut yogi now.”

“I’m going for a run tomorrow.”

I laugh. “Jesus, I was kidding, Slimy.”

Her eyes narrow. “Do not call me that,” she snaps. “And I’m not your wife.”

“I beg to differ.”

There’s a crash as her beer smashes to the floor. Ands suddenly, she’s shoving me back, turning the tables as I go tripping into the wall behind me with her finger right in my face.

“You. Gave. That. Up.” she hisses through clenched teeth.

She steps back, her shoulders dropping as if barking at me deflated her a little. She shakes her head at the broken glass and beer on the floor. “I- I need to go.”

“Ivy-”

But she’s ignoring me as she storms off back around the corner to the bar, leaving me alone in the dingy, dark dive-bar hallways with spilled beer on my shoes.

Yeah, great to be home.