13. Rose
rose
I wouldn’t be in this situation if I’d adopted one of the dogs at the shelter instead of a cute but useless cat.
I could have brought home any of the pit bull mixes in the kennels, even if they looked more like roly-poly cuddle bugs than guard dogs.
Of course, I probably would have brought home an elderly Chihuahua with a wonky tongue that wouldn’t stay in his mouth.
I’d still be cowering in the downstairs hall, but instead of fearing for my life, I’d be worried about his, too.
I’m an adult. I shouldn’t get freaked out over every little mystery sound I hear.
Most of the time, I love this old house.
But at night, noises seem to echo from all corners, strange sounds I can’t identify the source to and usually don’t go searching to find.
I’ve learned to live with the odd settling noises and mostly manage to pretend I don’t hear them.
But tonight’s different. Tonight, I’m crouched by the downstairs bathroom, watching the backyard flood lights go on and off through the kitchen window. Whoever’s out there is persistent. And doesn’t seem to care if I know they’re on my porch.
Is this when I’m supposed to call the police? I’ve never had to call 911 before. What do I say? “I heard a spooky sound. Please send your biggest, bravest cops.”
The doorbell rings, and I gasp so hard, I think I dislocate a rib. A second later, my phone buzzes.
Reed: It’s me
Relief lifts me to my feet and carries me to the front door in a rush of adrenaline. I unlock and pull it open to find Reed standing on my front porch. I have never been so happy to see that frowning face.
“Hi. What are you doing here?”
“I’m going to take a look around. Keep the door locked until I get back.” He walks away, clicking on a giant black flashlight as he steps off the porch. He turns back when he gets to the bottom step and nods at me. “Lock it.”
The thread of command in his voice spurs me to action.
I close myself in and turn the deadbolt.
I’m tempted to return to my crouching spot, but knowing Reed’s out there has siphoned off some of the fear that’s been coursing through me.
I’m still jumpy with fight-or-flight hormones, but I’m less concerned about my imminent demise now that he’s here.
I check our text thread while I wait for him to get back from scaring off bad guys.
He didn’t send a message that he was coming over.
That probably would have been unnecessary chit chat in his mind.
Only six minutes separate my last text to him and his text he was here. That’s good time, even in Sunshine.
It’s not long before a hulking shadow climbs the front steps and knocks on my door.
“It’s me.”
That’s what any skilled intruder would say.
But Reed’s voice is more accurate than a retinal scanner.
It makes my stomach flip even when it’s muffled by the door.
I open it, and he steps inside, locking us in.
He stands in front of the door like he’s become one more layer of protection for the house. For me.
“I didn’t see anyone. Something ran off when I opened the gate into the back yard, though.
Could have been raccoons. They’re not easily deterred by motion detector lights like you’ve got out there.
” His mouth takes on a tiny slant. “And they’re drawn to food humans might leave outside.
I hear raccoons like chips and guacamole, too. ”
I test my lungs with another huge gasp. “Oh my gosh. I’m such a dork. I was having a snack while I watched the sunset, and then I got sidetracked by a call and totally forgot about bringing in the food.”
“I put the trash in the can next to the house. There were teeth marks in the guacamole container, so I’m guessing they rated it five stars.”
I breathe a laugh, but it doesn’t do much for my racing heart. “At least they got a good dinner. Ugh, this is so dumb. It’s all my fault.”
I press my hands against my cheeks as if I can hide how they must be flaming right now.
Not only can I not handle weird noises, but I’m the type of dummy who leaves food outside to attract wild animals into their yard.
Thank goodness I didn’t call the police.
They might have written me up for public stupidity.
If that’s not a crime, it sure feels like one right now.
The punishment: getting humiliated in front of Reed.
His gaze is stuck on my hands, and his almost-smile disappears. He steps closer, gently pulling my hands from my face. “Hey. You’re trembling.”
He holds my hands in his much larger ones, closing tight around them to try to calm their shudders. Embarrassment floods my body like seed beads spilling across a wood floor. I want to stop its momentum, but the creeping sensation touches everything before I can even flinch.
“I’ve been really freaked out.” Tonight’s given my heart a better workout than any of the cardio routines I do on YouTube. My exhale is shaky, like it’s time for a cool down. “Mentally, I know I’m safe. But physically, I still feel like I should be hiding from predators.”
Teeny tiny predators who probably only eat bugs and larvae. And now, guac. But my caveman brain was busy imagining much worse creatures waiting for me outside in the darkness. Like ones on two legs who don’t take no for an answer.
“Come here.” He lightly pulls me closer, pausing halfway to give me the choice. I don’t think twice—I step right in, and he envelops me in his warm embrace.
I would not have expected this level of comfort from Reed, but there’s no hecking way I’m giving it up now that I’ve got it. I melt into him, my cheek cushioned against his chest, my arms locking around his back. He holds me tight, one hand soothing over my hair as I listen to his steady heartbeat.
We quietly hug until my hands don’t shake so badly and my breathing evens out.
I am vaguely aware just how dangerous it is for me to be this comfortable in his arms. Better than the snuggliest blanket or the coziest couch.
He smells fresh and minty, probably from a soap labeled something like Waterfall Warrior or Poseidon Punch. He’s soft and warm and so, so perfect.
This is how I want to spend all my Sundays, wrapped in his arms while a comfort show plays on TV and I pretend I’m making progress on my latest craft.
Except…no. I pull back, and he releases me. I’ve only got him through the end of summer. If we spend any of that time indulging in perfect hugs and cozy cuddles, I won’t want to let him go when September rolls around.
Also, it only just crept through my panicky brain that I’m only wearing pajamas. My light sleep shirt and shorts aren’t racy, but cuddling should probably stay at a minimum when my body already wants to count that hug as foreplay to a committed relationship.
“Better?” he asks.
I nod. “Thank you.”
“Want me to check the rest of the house?”
My cheeks must bloom red all over again. “For raccoons?”
“Would it make you feel better?” He waits, completely earnest in his offer to look through my house for intruders we both know won’t be there.
But…I will rest easier knowing we checked.
“Yes, please.”
I lead him on a tour of my house, and he treats it as seriously as if he’s part of a S.W.A.T. team, nodding in satisfaction when he deems each room clear. He checks closets and dark corners, and even looks through the garage.
“You got here really quickly,” I say as we climb the stairs.
He’s going up first because he’s a gentleman who wants anything lying in wait to attack him first. And also because the reverse would mean him looking up at my backside while I’m wearing skimpy shorts.
I’ve had enough embarrassment for one night.
“I was close by.”
“Your parents live in my neighborhood?” I think I would have noticed if the Bridger clan lived a couple of blocks over.
“By the high school.”
“That’s on the other side of town. How fast were you going?”
He climbs the last step, moving aside on the landing and gazing back at me with that unreadable expression he’s so fond of using. “Fast.”
“You could have gotten a ticket.”
“Wasn’t on my mind.”
I am oh-so tempted to ask what was on his mind, when he moves past me to inspect the upstairs. He frowns into my parents’ rooms but doesn’t say anything. Nope, it’s my bedroom that gets the commentary.
“Whoa.” He stops in the doorway when I flick on the light. “I don’t know what else I expected.”
“Is it burning your eyes?” The walls here are white like the rest of the house, but everything else is an explosion of color.
A mix of yellow, coral, and teal in the quilt and pillows bring the room to life.
Bold floral curtains line my windows. Brightly painted frames hold squares of fabric and abstract prints on the wall over my bed.
The rug beneath spirals from one shade of the rainbow to the next.
The effect could be a lot for a man whose wardrobe exclusively alternates between red check flannel and blue check flannel. I imagine his house is all neutrals, with minimal decoration. Maybe a Get Lost sign on the front door. Neat as a pin and completely bereft of knick-knacks.
“It suits you.” He leans against the door frame, gazing down at me. Even if he didn’t admit to noticing anything particular about me this afternoon—which I was not disappointed about, FYI—he’s watching me now as if he’s seen all my secrets. “There should be more of you in the rest of your house.”
“That’s hard to do when I don’t really feel like it’s mine.
” I was thrilled when my parents gave it to me and grateful for the money I’m saving since it’s already paid off.
But I quickly learned that any changes I wanted to make would need to go through a committee of one.
Every time I get excited about redecorating plans, Mom develops a frown line between her eyes, whether she actually says anything against it or not.
Just the way Reed’s frowning at me right now.
“Anyway, thank you for checking out the house and reassuring me there are no wild animals hidden away in one of the closets.” My laugh comes out brittle, like the burnt caramel lattices we use to decorate macchiatos. “They might have come in looking for a refill on the chips.”
He ignores my attempt at a joke. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Honestly, I’m going to have a hard time falling asleep tonight. He’s convinced me that nobody’s in the house, but my imagination has never cared much for facts. Every noise I hear the rest of the night will probably have me huddled in bed with the blankets pulled over my head.
But this is a perfect example of one of the lessons my parents have tried to teach me. Men don’t like needy women. Tonight has surely proven to Reed just how needy I am. Panicking over raccoons? Seriously?
“It’s fine.”
He frowns harder and holds out a hand. I automatically lay mine in it. We drop our attention to where my fingers shiver in his palm. I draw my hand back again, but he’s already seen all the evidence he needs. She’s guilty, Your Honor.
“You’re not fine yet,” he says. “Can I have a blanket?”
“A blanket?”
He moves past me, heading for the stairs. “I’m going to sleep on your couch.”
I follow as he clomps downstairs, my mouth opening but not making a sound. He stops in front of the couch, his gaze stuck on the decorative throw on the back. He frowns at it, but I don’t have to guess what he’s thinking. Why keep the itchy, coarse thing?
Because the decorating committee said so.
“You have something more comfortable than that, right?” He sits and reaches forward to untie his work boots.
I make a startled noise as if he reached for the button on his jeans instead. “You’re not really staying. Are you?”
“Will it comfort you if I do?” His expression softens, loosening the bands of anxiety running through me. “If it won’t, I won’t stay. Say the word Rose, and I’m gone.”
“I…” I’m torn between what I want and what I should want.
What I’m supposed to do and what I’m afraid to ask for, even if he’s already offered it to me on a golden platter.
Would I like him to stay and make sure I’m safe and comforted tonight?
Yes, please. I want to tell him. But I can’t shake the worry he’ll think less of me if I do.
He stays right where he is, but when he speaks, his words might as well ghost over my skin. “Your wants and needs are valid, Rose. Whatever you want right now, I’ll do it. But I need you to tell me what that is.”
I don’t care how needy it makes me or if he’ll think I’m too high maintenance to bother with. Having him down here will quiet my fears better than any alarm system could.
“I’ll get you that blanket,” I finally say.
His mouth tips up, and he nods. “Good.”
I run upstairs and grab a quilt and spare pillow out of the linen closet.
By the time I make it back down to the living room, Reed’s got his boots off and has laid his flannel shirt across one of the armchairs.
He’s still wearing his soft gray T-shirt and jeans, but knowing he’s about to go to sleep in my house, on my couch, gives the moment an intimacy I’m not sure what to do with.
I pass over the pillow and quilt. He plumps the pillow, throwing the blanket over himself as he lies down and stretches out his legs. The couch isn’t really long enough for him and it’s definitely not comfortable, but he doesn’t mention it.
“Would you rather sleep in the other bed?” I ask.
“Nah. Down here, I’ll be able to hear if the raccoons come back looking for margaritas.”
His teasing sends warmth through my veins down to every last finger and toe. I’m not sure what to do with that, either.
I stay rooted to the spot, watching him.
Possibly memorizing him. I don’t know for sure what my brain is doing.
All I know is, he’s willingly sacrificing a comfortable night’s sleep in order to ensure I’m comfortable.
My parents’ lessons tell me I should fight this.
My dating experience says this won’t end well.
It’s not attractive or “girlfriend worthy” for me to show Reed my flaws, mistakes, and irrational fears like displaying trophies in a case.
I should tell him to go home, that I’m fine, and I don’t need him to be my personal bodyguard.
But I want him to be exactly that. So I say nothing.
After a minute, he opens his eyes and squints up at me. The odd angle almost has me believing he’s got a smile on his face. “Goodnight, coffee buddy.”
I have the worst urge to run my fingers through his messy hair, but I close my hands into fists. “Goodnight.”
I turn out all the lights and scurry upstairs to my room. Sliding between my sheets, I am surprisingly content knowing Reed’s in the house. Even if a not-tiny part of me wishes he were closer.
For the record, I sleep better than I have in years.