Haven
Chapter Twelve
Cash
Good morning, let me know when you’re ready to go to work and I’ll walk you there
I don’t need a bodyguard!
Cash
this is protective boyfriend, it’s a completely different thing
Haven
if it walks like a duck…
Cash
Bodyguards don’t kiss their protectees
Haven
You haven’t read enough bodyguard romances
Cash
Pick one out for me today and I will
He appears on my doorstep twenty minutes later. “You look pretty today.”
I blush. “Thank you.”
“I like all your pretty dresses. I like you in jeans and a t-shirt, too. But you dress up real nice.”
“Would one of these dresses be appropriate for the wedding, do you think?”
“They sure would. I’ll be wearing my finest blue jeans and a cowboy hat, though.”
“Nothing else?” It slips out before I can stop myself.
His eyebrows jack up and he grins. “You’d like that, huh?”
I quickly lock my front door. “Let’s go to work.”
He makes an exaggerated bodyguard move, scanning the sidewalk before escorting me down the steps.
“You make me laugh,” I admit.
“Good.”
“Shouldn’t you already be at work?” The garage is always open when I arrive at the library.
“Perk of being the boss. I opened up an hour ago, and then I can head out to pick up my girlfriend while Riley holds down the fort.”
“Is that how you said it, Riley, I’m going to pick up my girlfriend and escort her to work!”
“As loud as I could so the whole town could hear, yeah.”
“And what did Riley say?”
“She said, is it that smoking hot librarian you’ve been staring at for the last six months?”
I roll my eyes. “That doesn’t sound like something Riley would say.”
I don’t know the younger mechanic well, but smoking hot librarian is more of a Cash-ism. And it makes my belly tremble.
He winks at me. “You caught me. She knows better than to ogle my girl.”
“Oh, is Riley…” I trail off.
He has no hesitation finishing my thought with an affirmative answer. “She’s bi. Pretty loud about it, too. Which is cool by me.”
I nod. “That’s good. I’m glad you’re supportive of her.”
He laughs. “Jesus, that’s a low bar, isn’t it?”
“Not one that a lot of people manage to clear, unfortunately.”
He gives me a sideways glance.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
But his curiosity is sharp now.
“Not nothing, you’re staring at me.”
“We’re just walking.”
“Walking and drilling into my soul with your eyeballs.”
He grimaces. “What a deeply unsexy way to say that.”
I laugh. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know you didn’t.” He tugs at his short beard. “You’re a fascinating woman, you know that? You’re not innocent about the ways of the world, but you’re…”
“Still painfully innocent? Yeah, I know.”
“That’s not what I was going to say.” He bites his lower lip thoughtfully as we reach Main Street. Holding out his hand, he waits for me to take it before he resumes walking.
Because we’re going to have an audience when we walk past The Friendly Table.
It also has the side benefit of him giving me a reassuring squeeze when he says, “I was just wondering if maybe you were curious about your sexuality, in a not-yet-explored kind of way.”
If only a reassuring squeeze was enough to keep me from tripping over my feet in shock.
Cash catches me around the waist, preventing me from spilling ass over teakettle onto the sidewalk.
“Sorry,” he whispers as he rights me, holding me firm against his chest. “That was out of line.”
“No,” I whisper. “It’s all right. I’m sure I’m straight, but I’m surprised you asked that.”
“Just trying to figure you out, I guess.” He relaxes his grip on me, but doesn’t let me go completely. “Wouldn’t want to push you in a direction you don’t want to go.”
I shiver, despite the warmth of the summer morning. “You’d never push me somewhere I don’t want to go.”
A frown pinches between his eyes, and his gaze turns unexpectedly stormy. “I hope I keep living up to that belief.”
“Well, this is cozy,” someone says, the gossipy smirk obvious in her voice even before I turn to look at Jessika Foote, who is approaching us on the sidewalk.
“I heard you two were together.” Her gaze flicks right past me and locks on Cash. “Didn’t believe it, but...”
Now I understand his growl yesterday at Jasper, because if my nails could extend into claws, I’d be using them right now on her catty face.
Cash doesn’t reply to her. He doesn’t even look at her. His eyes stay locked on me as he says, “Morning, Jess. You heading to the diner?”
“Not this morning,” she says regretfully. “I have a meeting first thing. Are you two going there?”
There’s a whole wordless exchange that goes on between us. Cash has to get back to the garage. I wouldn’t want to go there if I’d get cornered with Jessika, the worst gossip in Dragonfly Creek, but I have time to grab a coffee.
“Yeah,” he says slowly, drawing it out. “Gonna grab coffee before work.”
“Maybe I’ll see you there tomorrow.” She hurries past us, now in a rush, either for her meeting or to get on a group chat about what she just stumbled across on the sidewalk.
Cash walks me right to the diner door, but as he grabs it, something across the street grabs his attention. He swears under his breath. I follow the direction of his gaze.
Jeb’s truck is back at the garage.
“I need to go and save Riley from that,” he says as he leans in.
I catch the front of his shirt in my hands, worry slicing through me.
He wraps his fist around my fingers. Warm, confident, strong. “I’ll behave.”
“Please do.”
He leans in, and whispers, “Everyone’s watching.”
Then he brushes his lips against my mouth, slow and claiming.
Then he takes the steps backwards, keeping his eyes locked on me as he heads in the direction of the garage. “What are you doing for lunch?”
“Working.” I have to lift my voice now because he’s getting further away.
“Text me if you want me to bring you anything.” He glances both ways, then jogs across the street. Now he’s actually yelling. “And remember, I’m cooking tonight.”
That’s loud enough that Jeb, Jessika, Riley and everyone in the diner all heard him.
Inside The Friendly Table, the counter is blessedly free, so I take a seat there and devote myself to studying the breakfast menu.
Mercy slides a cup of coffee in front of me, because she remembers what people drink. And if she saw what happened outside, she doesn’t bring it up, bless her.
I order the french toast, then pull out the book I’m currently reading and drink my coffee while I wait for breakfast.
Mercy’s just refilled my mug and my order has hit the pass—French toast with berries—when Cash’s oldest brother, Ridge, strides through the door.
Mercy grabs my plate and turns around, then goes stock still. “Oh!”
“Need to talk to you,” he says gruffly.
“Of course.” She sets my plate in front of me, then glances around the diner before gesturing for him to follow her back into the kitchen.
Mercy was in grade nine when Cash’s family moved to town. The same grade as Zane, a few years behind Ridge, but that didn’t stop her from falling head over innocent heels in love with the surly rough-and-tumble fifteen-year-old who wanted to fight anyone and everyone.
I was only nine at the time, but that’s old enough to catch the edges of rumours.
And I was twelve when Ridge left again, joining the army as soon as he graduated from high school. Old enough to know that he’d left Mercy behind without a second glance.
She waited for him, though.
Waited a long time.
But the same year I left for college, a mature student at twenty-two, Mercy gave up waiting for Ridge and married her now ex-husband.
At some point between then and now, that marriage fell apart.
People whisper about that, too. It happened right around the same time Ridge returned to Dragonfly Creek.
But people whisper about everything.
Let them talk.
It’s hard, though.
I stab my fork into my french toast and focus on the luxury of having someone else make this for me.
I try really hard not to listen to the murmurs coming from the kitchen.
And maybe if I wasn’t sitting in the chair closest to the door, and if I didn’t know what was happening in two weeks, I wouldn’t pick up the few clear words and string them together.
Special…morning…secret…Jamboree.
Ridge is inviting Mercy to Zane and Hope’s wedding.
“You’re family,” he says gruffly, loud enough that those words are crystal clear.
“I’m not,” she says back. “And I’m working right now.”
He storms out of the kitchen, his face taut and his mouth a hard, flat line.
I focus on my coffee, because whatever this is, it’s not for me. It’s private.
But I can’t help but wonder why Ridge chose to have that conversation with Mercy in the middle of breakfast service.