Chapter 37
THIRTY-SEVEN
“T hanks again for letting me stay here on such short notice,” Xanthe said as she and Willow walked into the cottage Willow’s late grandmother had left her in the will.
“Of course. It’s the least I can do after what happened. And don’t ask me again, because, no, I’m not taking any rent from you for the rest of this month. If you decide to stay longer, we’ll talk then.”
“Thank you, I really appreciate it.” Xanthe paused to slip off her shoes on the mat inside the door.
“It smells good in here.” It was a little after three in the afternoon, and after dealing with her insurance company, the police, and fire services on and off all day—alone, because once again Blaine had gone radio silent—she was ready to crawl into bed.
As expected, the cabin was a total loss.
The owner had already been in contact with her to say there was no point in even trying to rebuild, since the property had been sold and any structure would just be torn down as soon as the development started.
All Xanthe could do was try to reclaim some of the cost for her destroyed belongings through renter’s insurance.
“It’s the lemon cleaning products my grandma left me. Come on in, I’ll show you around.”
“Where should I put all this?” Allistair asked as he came in holding a stack of boxes. Tripp was right behind him with another load.
The three of them had dropped everything at a moment’s notice to help her sort through her stuff at the cabin.
A lot of her furniture and things had been ruined by the fire, or smoke and water.
She’d managed to salvage some things and rescued other damaged ones that were important to her, hoping they could be saved by a restoration specialist. They had dug out everything they could and loaded up a small moving van to bring it all here.
“Kitchen table for now,” Willow answered, waving him through.
The place was cozy and bright and way bigger than Xanthe’s cabin had been. The only thing wrong with it was that it was inland. Xanthe already missed the ocean. Hearing it as she lay in bed. Seeing it out her windows.
“Any word from Blaine yet?” Willow asked, placing the shopping bags in the bedroom Xanthe would be using.
She kept her expression neutral. “No.” He’d texted to check in on her around ten, but said he didn’t know when he’d be back and hadn’t explained anything or tried to call.
“I need to ask—do you know what’s going on with him?
He acted all secretive before he left, wouldn’t say what was happening, and he hasn’t returned my call. ”
“I have no clue. What do you think’s going on?”
“Not sure.” Something serious. She felt it in her gut.
At first that stupid insecure part of her she liked to pretend didn’t exist had suspected it had something to do with Maddy. But she didn’t think that was it either. She believed him that they weren’t romantically involved.
“I’ll ask Tripp. Tripp,” Willow called before Xanthe could protest.
“Yeah?” He appeared in the open doorway with a couple more boxes in his arms.
“Any idea what’s going on with Blaine? He keeps disappearing mysteriously back to the mainland for some reason and goes silent for days at a time.”
“Could be a business thing. Or maybe an intelligence thing. He still takes on consulting jobs sometimes.”
“For who?” Xanthe asked. She’d slept with him, let herself be vulnerable with him, yet didn’t even know that much about him.
He shrugged. “DHS, NSA, sometimes private corporations. Might be something to do with a job that he can’t talk about due to security reasons.”
“Then why not just say that?” It made no sense. They had both been clear on not wanting anything serious, but it seemed like bare minimum that he at least explain that much to her before leaving her naked in his bed without an explanation other than he had some things to take care of.
This is why she’d known not to get serious with him.
And that look on his face. That haunted, dread-filled look that had put a rock in the pit of her stomach.
She’d offered to help him, but he didn’t want her help. Didn’t want her to know whatever was bothering him. Because he didn’t trust her?
That was why she’d made the decision to call Willow to ask about moving in here an hour after Blaine had left.
Staying with him was too messy. She was feeling too raw to risk more mess.
Him leaving this morning after the tender, intimate way he’d made love to her, ditching her the day after her house had been burned down, had triggered all her insecurities.
There was no point in lying to herself. She was seriously into him. Having her own space and maintaining some kind of independence now was crucial for what was left of her sanity and emotional well-being.
“Okay, that was no help at all. Go get more boxes,” Willow said to him, and Xanthe huffed out a laugh.
“Mind if I put out some of your things and do a bit of decorating in the kitchen and living room?” Allistair called out from down the hall. “I’ll make you a cozy nest.”
“Knock yourself out.” She wasn’t a decorator, but she liked having her things around her, and Allistair had a knack for making the most of what she had.
“Thank you again for all your help,” she said, loud enough for them all to hear.
“I would have been overwhelmed doing all this myself.” It still felt like she was frantically treading water, barely keeping her head above it.
“I would’ve been so mad at you if you hadn’t called me,” Willow said, and grabbed a bundle of clothes before standing. “I’ll put this first load in the wash and add some baking soda and vinegar to the rinse cycle. That’ll help with the smoke smell and stains.”
“Great. Thanks.”
She unpacked and organized everything the guys carried in from the truck.
“Knock, knock. Anyone home?” a woman called out as she was organizing her books and remaining family photographs into the bookshelf by her bed. So many of them had been lost in the fire. That hurt almost as much as losing her home.
Recognizing that familiar voice, Xanthe rose and went to peek out the door. Mae was in the hallway holding some bags, a cap pulled down over her short silver hair. “Hey, neighbor.”
A grin lit up Mae’s face. “Hey yourself. I brought you some groceries.”
“Oh, you didn’t have to do?—”
“Hush.” Mae set the bags down and came over to pull her into a hug. “I’m so sorry about your home, sweetheart, but I’m happy as hell to have you living just up the street. We’ll take good care of you.” She patted Xanthe’s back in a way that made tears sting the backs of her eyes.
“Thank you.”
“No thanks necessary. We take care of our own on this island. And you, young lady, are one of our best.”
Xanthe blinked fast, swallowed the lump that stuck in her throat. “If you make me cry, I might not stop,” she whispered, hanging by a thread. She felt lost and overwhelmed. Alone, even with her friends around her. Like a piece of her was missing.
She was surprised to realize she needed Blaine. How had she let this happen?
“Oh, sweetie, crying’s good for you. You go right ahead and let it out if you need to. No one will think less of you. Have you talked to your mom yet?”
The sudden switch in topic helped push the tears back.
“I called her this morning. She’s got her bags packed and her finger hovering over the confirm button to book her flight out.
I told her to hold off for a bit, until I know what’s going on and they find out who set the fire.
I don’t want anything to happen to her.”
And until she knew what the hell was going to happen with her and Blaine. After how open and vulnerable she’d been with him, the way he’d shut her out hurt.
Mae’s expression hardened. “Rafe better hope he finds out before I do.”
Xanthe grinned and hugged her impulsively. “You’re the best, Mae. And terrifying, all hundred-twenty pounds of you.”
The other woman grunted, patted her back once more, and then stepped back to grab the groceries. “You keep carrying on in here. Leave the kitchen to me.”
“Mae!” Allistair cried from out of view. “Good to see you, girlfriend. You’re just in time to help me decorate.”
Mae’s lips quirked, and she shot Xanthe a sardonic look. “Be right there.”