Chapter 1
My business partner, Malcolm Armand, leans across the table and kisses the maple syrup from my lips. We’re sequestered in a cozy booth inside the Springside Pancake House. They make the best breakfast for dinner, even today, when it’s served with a side order of worry.
Malcolm would kiss away the worry, too, if he could. It’s there in the way his thumb rubs the faded blue spot on my left cheek, the way his mouth curves against mine. His hands come to rest on my arms, and his skin is so warm against mine. With the utmost care, he traces the scars that remain on the backs of my hands and along my forearms. The wounds aren’t tender, and when he strokes them, it doesn’t hurt. Instead, it’s almost like these scars are greedy for his touch, for his heat and his vitality.
“You okay?”
