I had to fight the urge to take his chin between my forefinger and thumb to hold his gaze still enough that he’d level with me. Was this the truth or a well-versed lie?

“Why do you even carry it around?”

“It’s hard to explain,” he replied, his expression suddenly sheepish. “I guess I carry it so I can feel protected, and so I can look out for my brothers if I have to. Ever since my father died, it’s been hard for all of us. It changed us. It changed me. I don’t know this place or the people in it, and I’m so used to having the blade with me for a sense of security that it’s like second nature to keep it in my pocket. I don’t really feel safe without it.” He swallowed hard, burying the emotion that was causing his voice to falter. “I know it’s a strange way to cope with something like that, but it helps me.”

The knife suddenly heavy in my hand. “I didn’t know that.”

Nic shrugged. Another flash of lightning lit up his face, and I could see it was bleak with the memory. He slumped backward against the door, his stance defeated. Whatever game of truth we had been playing, I had won, and I felt queasy because of it. “It is what it is,” he mumbled.

I had to look away from him. I had felt those feelings of grief and sadness, wallowed in them, even, and for what? A father who deserved to be where he was, and who would come back to me eventually. I knew there were things about Nic that might make him bad for me, but there were things about his life that he couldn’t change, and that didn’t make him a bad person, either. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“No, I’m sorry.” He straightened up abruptly, as though someone above him was pulling him by strings, and the vulnerability drained from his posture. “I was an idiot to pull that knife out, but I wouldn’t have hurt Alex with it, I promise. I would never do that. Please let Millie know that, too.”

“I didn’t mention the knife to Millie,” I said, my stomach twisting with guilt. It was a telling revelation.

“Oh,” he said quietly.

“Alex didn’t see it, and I didn’t want to make the whole thing worse. Besides, he texted me afterward saying he was sorry things got so heated, so I thought we could all just chalk it up to an isolated incident that got out of hand and maybe you could both just move past it.” I spoke quickly, mashing the words together. Suddenly my cheeks felt like they were on fire. I didn’t tell Millie everything. Did that make me a bad friend? Or just an idiot? Because despite knowing I shouldn’t care about Nic, I did, and even though I was trying to avoid him, I had been hoping to see him — to give him the chance to explain.

“Thank you,” he said earnestly. “I’m sorry if I scared you and I’m sorry I lied to you about it. I thought it would be easier, but I knew afterward it was the wrong thing to do. I wanted to come and talk to you about it.”

“So that’s why you’re here?” I asked, wondering about the timing of his late-night visit.

Nic smiled, revealing a wedge of white teeth in the dark. “You got me.”

I stashed the knife back in my bag and moved to peer through the diner door as he had done, not because I thought there was anyone inside, but because I was suddenly feeling shy and I didn’t know what else to do.

“Can you get in?” he asked.

My wet hair swung around me like strings as I shook my head. “Everyone else has gone home.”

“Maybe I could do something.”

“Could you teleport me into my house?”

He took an uneven breath, and coyly he asked, “Do you want me to try?”

“To teleport me?”

“No.” He cleared his throat. “I can try to open the door if you want.”

“What? How?”

“Do I have your permission to try?”

I raised my hands in the air. “By all means.”

“Do you mind standing back a little?”

“Are you really going to do this?”

He set his jaw. “Yes.”

I might have agreed to anything he asked right then because, in the rain, he looked incredible. His wavy brown hair was wet and pushed away from his face, revealing the full effect of his chiseled cheekbones. I shuffled backward.

Nic turned his back to me and pulled something that resembled a fountain pen from his back pocket.

“What’s that?”

“Another gift you’d disapprove of,” he said simply, before moving closer to the door and obscuring it from my view.

For a minute or so all I could see were slight movements in his arms as he went to work on the door — first the upper lock, which yielded with a light click, and then the heavier one lower down, which took longer. Finally, he pulled the handle down and the door swung open in front of us, jingling the bell above it.

My mouth fell open. “You just broke into the diner.”

“You gave me permission.” He stashed whatever he had been using into his pocket and stepped back so I could enter first. “After you.”

I stared at him as I shuffled inside to punch in the alarm code before it went off. “Do you make a habit of that?”

“No,” he said, following me closely. “My brothers and I used to find tools that we could use to break into one another’s rooms when we were younger. It was never anything more serious than bedroom warfare. It was just dumb luck that an old screwdriver could open that door tonight. The locks really aren’t what they should be.”