24. Mallory
Chapter 24
Mallory
I whip around, suddenly painfully aware of my bedraggled wet hair, my belly peeking from my cropped tank top. I didn't think I'd see him this early, so I hadn't considered him when dressing. Didn't he say he had a full day today? I could swear that's what he told me this morning before dawn had dared to crack.
Any preoccupation with how I look disappears the moment my eyes find Hugo. He's a little dirty, and a little sweaty, and he's wearing a backwards baseball cap. He walks closer, pushing up the sleeves of his long-sleeve shirt, palms gliding over muscled forearms.
Good thing there isn't a doorway anywhere nearby for him to grip the top of the frame. I'd be a goner.
What happened to the pregnant lady?
Oh, she melted into the floor. Don't mind her, step over the large puddle.
My eyes track Hugo as he approaches, stopping right behind me. I look up at him, into the dark brown eyes fringed in sooty lashes, the sharp arc of his generous eyebrows. So unfairly thick and shapely. Lost on a man.
"Hey," I say, swallowing around what can only be described as cactus needles in my throat.
"Why can't you stay here?" he asks again, looking down at me. His eyes burn with intensity, as if this is the most important question he can possibly ask me.
"She can," Jolene pipes up. "And she will."
Hugo looks over my head, finding my outspoken best friend on the screen.
"Hello. I'm Hugo."
Jolene grins. "I know who you are."
I turn around on the stool, shooting a stern look at Jolene. Act right I say with my eyes. "This is Jolene. My best friend and producer of Case Files."
"Nice to meet you, Jolene. Are you aware that your best friend is incredibly funny and has a knack for alliteration?"
Jolene's lips purse, I think so she won't grin like a loon. "I've noticed this about her once or twice."
Hugo's standing behind me, and even though there's a back to the stool, it's like I can feel him through the upholstery. His nearness is hypnotizing. Distracting. Makes me curl my bare toes around the bottom rung on the counter stool, my body looking for a place to put the tension.
"So," Hugo says, "you think Mallory should stay with me?"
"Either that or find the perv who took photos of her sleeping and castrate him. Can she borrow one of your swords? "
I glance up at Hugo to gauge his reaction. He's showing no horror or shock, face straight as he plays along. "A sword is too much weapon for a job like that."
Jolene shrugs one-shouldered, eyes glimmering with mischief. "I guess she'll have to stay with you."
"She's welcome here. Her and Peanut." Then he touches my shoulder, the lightest, kindest connection, and my body responds by throwing tiny flamethrowers all over the place.
"I promise we won't overstay our welcome," I assure him. I don't miss the way the corners of his eyes squint like he has words balancing on the tip of his tongue but he's not sure he should say them.
"I knocked off early so I could take you into town for your car, and lunch." He cranes his neck at my empty plate, an inch of sourdough crust the only evidence there was ever food on it.
"I thought you said you had a full day?"
"I made room," he answers. "Let me grab a shower and we can leave when you're ready. Jolene, it was nice to meet you."
He retreats from the kitchen, entering the hallway I came from awhile ago. His pants are work-softened, tight in all the right places. Just before he disappears from my sight, he reaches behind his head, gathering his shirt at the neck. One more step and he's gone, taking what was sure to be a spectacular view with him.
"Mal," Jolene fans herself with her hand. "Are you kidding me? My ovaries volunteer as tribute. "
"Give me three more seconds and I'll be out of earshot," Hugo shouts.
"Way to go," I mutter.
"No, no. Way to go, to you. You probably put your phone on timer and took those photos yourself so you could weasel your way into Hugo's bed."
"Guest bed," I correct.
"Not for long," she counters.
"You're a pill, you know that?"
"But you love me."
"I do. Now go subsist on your sad and concerning diet and send me all the info for our marketing meeting."
Jolene blows me a kiss and ends the call.
I wash my plate and the cooled frying pan, drying and replacing them where I found them. Walking to the guest room to get changed, I hear the muffled sounds of the shower coming through the inch of space under a door at the end of the hall.
Hugo's in there. Naked. Soapy. Slick. I bet his hair darkens to pitch when it's wet. Does he have a tattoo? Freckles on his upper back that resemble a constellation? An interesting scar? Wounds from all those years fencing?
I dart into the guest room before I can do anything foolish. There will be no giving in to the fantasy playing through my mind right now. Maybe I should find an icepack and place it in my underwear, because that ho at the top of my legs is parched, and my temporary roomie is looking like water .
Firmly, I close the door behind myself. I spend a few minutes changing into one of my loose dresses and brushing out my mostly-dried hair, then wind it into a bun at the nape of my neck. Grabbing my purse and a pair of slip-on sandals, I make my way to the living room to wait for Hugo.
He's already there, standing near a window, holding a sandwich in one hand and a can of soda water in the other. He wears a fresh pair of jeans and a white T-shirt. My stomach rolls at the sight of him. How am I going to stay here and not spontaneously combust?
I must make a noise as I enter, because he turns to find me. His gaze lowers to my stomach, followed by a fleeting look of disappointment.
I stop at the far end of the room beside the couch and look down at myself. Am I not dressed appropriately? "We're only running errands, right?"
"Yeah," Hugo answers, eating a quarter of his sandwich in one bite.
"You had a weird look on your face when I walked in." Has he changed his mind about letting me stay here? That must be it. He's second-guessing our proximity, the way we've been steadily getting closer every day since I arrived. "Are you thinking we should put some professional distance between us? I get it. I'm here to maybe connect and possibly solve our loved ones' murders. Not be your roomie."
Maybe. Possibly. I hate the way these words come with caveats. Just the sound of them has me envisioning a person opening their mouth and raising one finger in the air, as if they're reminding me none of this is concrete. It could all be for nothing, and I'll have to figure out another way to forgive myself, and face raising my child in a world where my sister's murderer roams free.
Hugo finishes chewing his bite, takes a sip of his water, and wipes his hands with a napkin he pulls from his back pocket. Then he places the napkin on a side table and lays the remaining sandwich on it.
He walks closer, eyes on me. Stops directly in front of me. He's close enough I smell his bodywash, or maybe it's deodorant, or hell, maybe it's simply him . Between that scent and the way he's looking at me, my toes are curling, pressing into my shoes to keep me from swaying.
"Mallory." Hugo wears a look of utter seriousness. "It seems you need to keep hearing me say this, so I'll do it again. I want you to stay here . I promise you, I have never invited a person into my home who I did not want to be there."
My teeth strum my bottom lip as his words work over me. Words are nice and all, but action says so much more. Dylan gave me words, and when it came to facing the reality of the life we made, he couldn't run away fast enough.
But last night, Hugo raced to me. Wrapped me in his arms and took me from the inn and whatever danger may have still been lurking. He caught me when I fainted. What more do I need? He's spoken, and he's shown.
"Alright," I nod. "You had a look on your face when I walked in, and I guess I'm defensive. It's not easy being a pregnant woman, staring down the reality of becoming a single mom in only a handful of months. "
A muscle along Hugo's jaw tics. "Mallory, you can keep your fists in fighting stance against the rest of the world, but when it comes to me, you'll have no need." He reaches for my hand, wraps it in his. The scrape of a callus has my breath quickening. "You're here to work, and my compliance, and even my participation, makes that easier for you. And maybe I'm one-sided here, and if I am, that's ok, but this doesn't feel like it's only a working relationship. It feels like maybe we're..." He struggles to find the right word, and his thumb rubs over the top of my fingers. "Friends?"
My heart is busy melting over his words, and that spot below my navel is busy distracting me. If his thumb weren't running circles over my hand, I could focus.
"Friends," I manage to say. "Definitely."