“Money, you mean?”

She laughed bitterly. “Sure, that’s part of it, I guess.”

“What else?”

Her gaze turned distant for a moment, then she brought her eyes up to meet his. “Van, there’s something I need to—”

“Here you go.” Phyllis arrived with their food. “Chicken pot pie for the lady and a steak sandwich for the gentleman.”

She put their plates in front of them. “What else can I get you? Ketchup for the fries? Side of anything? Horseradish for that steak?”

Lisa’s smile turned oddly bright. “I’m good. This looks great.”

“Nothing for me.” Van left his food untouched as the waitress left. He was waiting for Lisa to finish her sentence.

She broke the pot pie’s crust with her fork, releasing a cloud of steam. “Food sure comes out of that kitchen hot, huh? Yours looks good too. Can I steal a fry while I wait for mine to cool down, or are you one of those people who hate to share?”

“You can have a fry.” Had he imagined her about to say something? Maybe it hadn’t been important, but in the moment, it had felt like she’d been about to unburden the weight of the world from her shoulders. “Was there something you were going to say?”

She squinched up her face like she was thinking hard. “Um, not that I can remember. Oh, I need to go by the post office. Maybe that was it. Unless you have stamps?”

“I might. We can stop by.” He picked up one half of his sandwich and started eating.

He was pretty sure she hadn’t been about to tell him she needed stamps. Obviously, she’d changed her mind about whatever she’d been on the verge of revealing. Something too personal maybe. Something hard.

He felt for her. Carrying a burden like that was never easy. Maybe someday she’d feel comfortable enough to tell him. Maybe not.

Whatever it was, he wished he could explain that nothing she told him was going to make any difference about how he felt toward her. In fact, it might even make him like her more.

But that was a bridge they would have to cross together.

Monalisa had never been happy about all the parties her father had forced her to attend until now. Those parties had given her a backlog of small talk to pull from, hundreds of inane questions to lob at Van in an attempt to keep the conversation focused on him.

And away from the fact she’d almost found the courage to tell him the truth.

Almost. Thankfully, their server had arrived with their food before she’d gone too far. And in those few moments, she’d wised up and realized that telling him in a public place wasn’t going to be any better than telling him in a private place. It could be worse, actually. He might stop her from going back to the house to get her things. Or his friends might band together with him and drive her out of town.

If she had any money, she’d leave an extra tip for the waitress, because the woman’s interruption had saved Monalisa’s hide.

What had she been thinking? Telling Van was a bad idea. Bad. She didn’t think he’d physically hurt her. He wasn’t the kind of guy to lay a hand on a woman, that seemed pretty clear. But one of his friends might. Bridget, for example.

She looked like the kind of woman who wouldn’t shy away from backhanding someone she thought deserved it. Or did werewolves just bite?

Either way, Monalisa didn’t want to find out.

She needed to remember that this was all temporary. This wasn’t some new life she was living, being shown the town and treated to lunch. And a hat. This was all part of the game she was playing. This was what Lisa Devers, rehab therapist, got to do.

Because Monalisa Devlin, pawn of the leprechaun king, had to earn her freedom before she could even think about living this kind of life.

This wonderful, peaceful, do-whatever-you-want kind of life. She stabbed a hunk of chicken. Where you could date someone and spend an afternoon with him doing normal things, like eating chicken pot pie and having the best time you’d ever had.

She had a long way to go to get there. Which was also why she needed to stop falling for Van.

She could already tell her feelings for him were developing into something more than just friends. He was sweet and kind and clearly generous. But that was because he didn’t know who she really was, or what she was here to do. He would change the instant he found out. There was no way he’d feel the same way about Monalisa once the truth surfaced.

It killed her inside. She’d never known a guy like him. Never had the chance, really, with the way her father kept men away from her. And whatever was happening between them would be utterly destroyed when her real purpose here came to light.

Maybe she’d write him a long letter and leave it behind for him to find. Explain everything that way. Because she couldn’t bear the thought of him not knowing that she’d had no choice.

“You okay?”

She jerked her head up. “What?”

Van pointed a French fry at her food. “Is something wrong with your meal?”

“Oh, no. It’s just…hot.” She blew on the hunk of chicken stuck to the end of her fork, then popped it into her mouth. So much for making small talk. She launched into a series of questions then, old standbys that always worked at parties. Seen any good movies lately? What are you reading? Where did you go to college? How are the kids? Your wife? Your dog? Can you believe the weather? Who does your hair? Where did you get that dress? That suit? That glass of wine?

Not all of them worked in this situation, obviously, but there were enough to start a conversation and keep it going.