Chapter 1 #3
Swallowing back my annoyance, I force my mind back to the topic at hand. Or rather, the unspoken question at hand. “What did you want to ask?”
“Right.” She laughs nervously. “So… I don’t want to keep taking your money.”
Alarm shoots through me. “Do you want me to stop calling?”
“No!” It bursts out; louder than I expected. More softly, she adds, “No. I was just thinking, maybe I could give you my actual number? And we could talk that way instead? Unless you’d feel weird about it. I understand if you do. In fact, forget I said?—”
All at once, I’m filled with a fizzy, hopeful sort of joy. “I would really like that, Paige. As long as you’re sure.”
She exhales. “I’m sure.” After a moment, she adds, “Maybe we could text, too. You could send me photos of your next hike, if you feel comfortable.”
I’m well aware texting photos of nature isn’t far from sending photos of myself, which opens a whole new can of worms, but it doesn’t stop me from saying, “That sounds great, Paige. And maybe you could send me pictures of the backsplash you just installed. Or a photo of Ghost. I’d really like to see him. ”
“Cillian.”
“You don’t have to?—”
“No, I would love to.” Her tone brightens. “How about if you give me your number? And I’ll call you now?”
I’m grinning like a damn loon as I say, “That sounds perfect.”
Less than a minute later, Paige’s real number appears on my phone. I commit it to memory; not that I won’t add her to my contacts the instant we end the call, but I always like to memorize the phone numbers of the people I care about. My parents. My teammates. And now, Paige.
Feeling more cheerful than I have in months? years? I answer, “Hey, you.”
“Hey, you.” There’s a lightness to her voice that wasn’t there before. “So. We’re talking for real, now.”
“Are you saying it wasn’t real before?”
“No… But this is different. Not that I didn’t love talking to you before, but… I don’t know. It just feels… better.”
She’s right. It does. It feels like we’re on the cusp of something special.
“You’re right,” I agree. “It does. Although—will it mess things up, not getting paid?”
“No,” Paige answers quickly. “I’ve been thinking about cutting back to two days a week since I’ve been getting more dog walking customers recently. And anyway, talking to you is more important.”
Is it crazy to feel so much for someone I’ve never seen?
I know the basics about Paige’s appearance—curly brown hair the color of walnut, blue eyes, five foot five, more freckles than she’d like—but it’s nothing like actually seeing her.
Finding out just how many freckles she has.
Discovering if her eyes are a bright sky blue or deep sapphire.
If her hair falls in long, loose, curls, or springy spiral ones.
But one thing at a time.
Pushing up from the couch, I make a quick circuit around the living room, pausing to look out at the now-dark sky outside. The crescent moon casts a soft glow on the dewy grass. Crickets chirp in a chorus. The cooling evening brings a welcome breeze through the open window.
“What are you doing right now?” Paige asks.
“Looking outside,” I reply. “Listening to the crickets. Talking to you. What are you doing?”
“I just went into the bedroom. I’m going to change—” She stops so abruptly, I can hear her teeth clack. “Sorry. That was too much information.”
My pants go tight. Desire throbs. No, I’ve never seen Paige. But somehow, I want her, just the same. “It’s not too much information.”
“I’m just putting on sleep shorts,” she says. “Nothing exciting. They’re actually pretty terrible, if you saw them. I’ve had these shorts for at least ten years, and there’s a hole?—”
An aggrieved sound follows. “Why am I telling you about my old, holey shorts?”
I laugh. “Because we’re talking. And I don’t mind hearing about them.”
“Cillian.” Her smile is audible again. “Did I ever tell—” She stops. Sucks in a sharp breath.
It’s a small sound. A potentially innocent sound. But my gut tells me it isn’t.
“Paige.” My voice dips, going rough and urgent. “What’s wrong?”
“I… I thought I heard something.”
“Something? Like a sound outside?”
“Maybe.”
A few seconds go by.
Then she lets out a tiny yip of fear.
My heart leaps to my throat. “ Paige . What is it?”
Her breathing is much louder. Faster. More uneven. “I think… Cillian. I think there might be someone in the house.”
Shit.
Shit .
Forcing a calm I’m not feeling, I say, “Okay. You need to get to a safe place. Then call the police. Now.”
“It might not be…” Fear strains Paige’s voice. “Maybe it’s the pipes. Or…”
“Lock the door,” I order. “ Now .”
“Okay. Okay.” I can hear her moving; her footsteps quick and light on a wooden floor. “I’m going. This door doesn’t lock. I don’t have an attached bathroom, so I’ll have to go?—”
“ No . Don’t leave the bedroom. Block the door. You can use a wedge. Find some fabric. Cardboard. A book.”
“Cillian—” Her voice cuts off with a yelp.
She cries out, but it’s quickly muffled.
A clatter sounds in my ear.
Then the call cuts off.
Fuck .
FUCK.
“Paige!” I yell uselessly into the phone. “Paige!”