Clara’s pov
I was carrying a tray of clean mugs out of the kitchen when Ronan Vale walked into the diner like he’d never left.
Same black jacket. Same stillness that made the regulars glance up and then decide not to stare.
He took the corner stool at the counter, the one that let him see both the door and the windows, and waited without looking at the menu.
Marnie glanced at me, then at him, eyebrows raised. “You know this one?”
“We’ve met.” I set the tray down and wiped my hands on my apron. The power under my ribs had gone alert the second he crossed the threshold, recognizing the same dominant presence from the full-moon clearing. “What can I get you?”
“Coffee. Black. And whatever’s filling that doesn’t come with a side of conversation I didn’t ask for.”
His voice was the same
