23
Joel pulls in behind me in the driveway, the low rumble of his Jeep quieting as he kills the engine. Before I can even open the trunk, he’s already beside me, lifting grocery bags with ease.
“I’ll help you carry these in,” he says.
“Thank you.”
As we walk up the path to my front door, a yawn catches me off guard. I feel the exhaustion pressing at the base of my skull. “I don’t know why,” I mumble, “but I can’t stop yawning.”
“You’re coming down off the adrenaline,” he tells me gently. “It hits harder than people expect.”
We climb the porch steps. Joel shifts the bags to one arm and holds out his free hand, palm up. “I’ll unlock for you,” he offers casually.
I hand over my keys without argument. Everything feels like more effort than it should be. “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
He unlocks the door, pushing it open. But instead of stepping back to let me in, he crosses the threshold first and halts just inside, his shoulders tense as he scans the entrance hall.
“Joel?” I pause in the doorway and frown at him. “What are you doing?”
He glances over his shoulder. “Wait here,” he instructs me calmly. “I want to check the house.”
Understanding clicks into place, and my mouth drops open. “Is that why you offered to help with the groceries?”
“Partly,” he admits without apology.
“Seriously, you don’t need to search my house,” I protest. “It was probably just a prank. Like Owen said.”
“Maybe,” he concedes. “But for my own peace of mind, let me take a quick look around. Just to be sure.” His tone is gruff, but his eyes are gentle. “Please.”
I hesitate, then sigh. The part of me that hates being a bother wants to tell him he’s overreacting, but the rest of me is still a little shaken and craves the reassurance a simple check might bring. “Okay. But only because you said please ,” I add under my breath.
I wait in the entryway while he sets the grocery bags down in the kitchen, then disappears down the hall.
I hear him move methodically from room to room.
My cottage is small—two bedrooms, one bathroom—so it shouldn’t take long.
I wonder what it says about me that I’m more worried about the pile of clothes on my bed and the jumble of cosmetics on my dresser than I am about an intruder hiding in my house.
Joel returns a few minutes later. “It’s fine,” he says simply, reaching for one of the bags in my arms. “You can come in now.”
I follow him into the kitchen, my throat tightening unexpectedly at his quiet protectiveness. I can’t remember the last time someone looked out for me like that. Certainly not Bobby, who once made me feel like I was too much for simply voicing out loud my anxiety in certain social situations.
Joel is silent as he begins unpacking the grocery bags, placing each item on the counter. I move around the kitchen putting everything away. We’re unpacking the groceries like we’ve done it a hundred times before.
“Coffee?” I offer when we’re finished.
He shakes his head. “I better get going.”
I nod, forcing lightness into my voice. “Well, thank you again for making sure there wasn’t anyone hiding behind my shower curtain.”
He leans against the kitchen island and gives me a frustrated, troubled look. “It bothers me that you’re not taking this seriously enough.”
“I am,” I assure him. “It’s just... If I make a joke out of it, then it doesn’t freak me out as much. You know?”
His expression softens. “I know.” His eyes search mine. “Are you holding up okay?”
I draw in a breath. “It’s strange, it’s just a word, and maybe it wasn’t even directed at me, but I feel off-balance and...exposed, like something’s been taken from me.”
His jaw tightens. “I hate that this happened to you.” There’s something raw behind his eyes. Something that looks a lot like guilt. But that doesn’t make sense. Why would he feel responsible?
I lower my gaze. “I’ve never been called that before.”
Joel is quiet for a moment. “Do you think Bobby could have done it?”
“Bobby?” I look up and let out a surprised laugh, but it dies quickly when I glimpse how serious Joel is. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m very serious.”
I shake my head. “Bobby wouldn’t do something like that. It’s not his style.”
“How well do you know him?”
“Well enough,” I say quickly. “He can be thoughtless and impulsive sometimes, but this? It’s not him.”
His tight lips says he’s unconvinced.
My eyes widen. “You’re going to tell Owen about your suspicions, aren’t you?”
“Why ask if you’re not going to like my answer?”
“Joel, no,” I plead. “If Bobby gets questioned, he’ll be angry.”
Joel raises his eyebrows. “Will he now?”
“Come on, anyone would be upset if they were treated like a suspect.”
“Then let Owen do his job,” he says firmly. “If Bobby didn’t do it, he has nothing to worry about.”
I swipe my thumb across a stray water droplet on the counter. “Owen said it was probably just kids.”
“I know what he said.”
“But you don’t think it was random?” I ask hesitantly. “Just the wrong car at the wrong time?”
“I’m not sure,” he says slowly. “But I want you to take every precaution you can right now.”
My mouth goes dry. “What kind of precautions?”
His mask slips for a second. Just enough for me to glimpse something move across his face. Worry? Maybe fear? He watches me with his hands jammed in his pockets, as though to stop himself from reaching for me.
“Keep your phone on you. Lock your doors, even during the day. And if anything feels off, I want you to call me. I don’t care what time it is, you call me.”
I stare at him, taken aback by the urgency in his voice. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting a little?”
“I’ve seen how things can escalate,” he says simply.
That’s all he offers, but it’s enough to raise unsettling questions into the silence between us.
What things? What is he not saying? And why does it feel like there’s a story behind his silence?
“Kenzie,” he says forcefully. “Promise me you’ll call.”
I’m unsure what to do with this strange swell in my chest, this ache of being protected so fiercely by someone who is still a mystery to me.
“I promise,” I finally whisper.
“Thank you.” He tries for a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m a little paranoid because it’ll be a real hassle trying to find another fake fiancée to keep Farah at bay.”
It’s meant as a joke, his own attempt to use humor to ease the tension, but his worry has seeped into me and I can’t find it in me to return his smile.
“I’m sorry about all this,” he says, dragging a hand through his hair.
“I don’t think any of it is helped by all the attention we’ve drawn to ourselves.
My little stunt on Main didn’t help either.
” He scrubs a hand over his face. “That was reckless of me. Reckless and stupid. From now on, we need to make more of an effort to keep things between us low-key.”
“If that’s what you want.” My words are small and thin, like they’re stitched together from fraying threads.
“That’s what I want,” he says brusquely, pushing off the kitchen island. “Lock the door behind me.”
“I will.”
He lingers for a second or two longer, like there’s something else he wants to say. Then he turns and walks out the door.
I flip the deadbolt into place, but nothing about this moment feels secure. Not the lock. Not the quiet. And definitely not the questions he’s left behind.