Chapter 10 #2
“You should prepare to be properly fussed over and appreciated.” I smiled, feeling some of the weight lift from my chest. “I’m an excellent cook, and this house has every amenity you could possibly want. Plus, I’m a fabulous roommate.”
Something flickered in Knox’s eyes. Amusement? Maybe a little of something else as well. “I can work with that.”
“Good.” I released his hand and raised my iced tea glass. “To our new partnership. And answers.”
Knox clinked his glass against mine.
We talked for hours. Straight through the afternoon.
I learned that Knox loved old movies and hated small talk, that he’d taught himself to cook during long deployments and could make a decent fettuccine sauce.
He missed the structure of military life but not the busyness. He loved life on the island.
I told him about my weakness for historical fiction and terrible reality TV, that I’d once hiked the entire Appalachian Trail solo, that I’d learned to cook from my Italian grandmother who’d never written down a single recipe.
By the time the sun began its slow descent toward the horizon, I realized I was genuinely enjoying myself. The fear and trauma from last night hadn’t disappeared, but it had faded into the background. Here, on this patio with Knox, I felt safe. Protected.
Seen.
“I should probably get my stuff from the Jeep,” Knox said eventually, standing and stretching. I tried not to notice the way his shirt pulled across his shoulders. “I’ll walk the perimeter to get a lay of the land, then knock when I finish.”
“All right. Then I’ll show you to your room.”
Knox
I followed Sloane through the massive house, my duffel bag slung over one shoulder. She moved with easy familiarity through spaces that felt more like a museum than a home. Marble floors. High ceilings. Art that probably belonged behind velvet ropes.
“Kitchen you’ve seen,” Sloane said, gesturing as we passed. “Help yourself to anything. I mean that. There’s a coffee maker, espresso machine, regular pot, whatever you prefer in the morning.”
“Regular coffee’s fine.”
“Good, because I have no idea how to work the espresso thing.” She flashed a smile over her shoulder. “My mother insisted on it. I think she’s used it twice.”
We climbed the wide staircase to the second floor. “My room’s at the end of the hall,” Sloane said, pointing right. “Yours is here.” She opened a door to the left, revealing a space roughly the size of my entire first floor.
King bed with crisp white linens. Private bathroom through an adjoining door. Windows overlooking the sound. Furniture that appeared expensive and uncomfortable in equal measure.
“This okay?” Sloane asked, and I heard genuine concern in her voice. “I know it’s a bit much. My mother decorated. I can change anything you don’t like.”
“It’s fine.” I set my bag on the bench at the foot of the bed. “I’ve slept in worse places.”
Sloane leaned against the doorframe, suddenly looking uncertain. “So, um, bathroom’s through there. Fresh towels in the cabinet. And there’s a desk if you need to work or whatever.”
The awkwardness between us was palpable. We’d spent the day together, shared a meal, talked for hours. But now, standing in this bedroom with the bed looming large between us, everything felt different.
Charged.
She kneaded her hands. “I know this is weird. Letting a stranger move into my house. But you don’t feel like a stranger.”
I held her gaze. “You don’t feel like a stranger to me either.”
Her cheeks flushed, and I longed to trace the color with the backs of my fingertips. To hold her close and remove the fear still visible in her eyes.
“Thank you,” I said. “For all of this. The room, the food, your hospitality.”
“You’re the one helping me,” Sloane corrected. She pushed off from the doorframe, folding her hands in front of her. “I should let you settle in. It’s been a long day.”
“Yeah.”
Neither of us moved.
Sloane’s gaze dropped to my mouth, then away quickly. “Right. So. I’ll see you later then.”
I nodded once, not wanting to see her go. Already imagining excuses to look for her as I secured the house. Questions to ask just to keep her in my presence.
She took two steps backward, still facing me. “If you need anything—”
“I’ll let you know.”
“Okay.” Another step back. “Bye.”
“Goodbye.”
Sloane turned and walked quickly down the hall. I heard her door close with a soft click.
I moved to the doorway, watching the space between our rooms, very aware of the fact that we were alone in this house together. That she was just down the hall and I could reach her, from my bed to hers, in six seconds flat, should the need arise.
I acknowledged, then ignored the fact that the attraction I felt was clearly mutual, even if neither of us was willing to admit it yet. Because that could become problematic, if I let it.
Ignoring the temptation would be harder than I’d thought. But I wouldn’t fail this mission.
I closed my bedroom door between us and returned to the bed. Mental lists formed in my mind as I unpacked my bag and tried not to think about Sloane. Or imagine what she wore to bed at night.
Or wonder if she was thinking about me too.