Chapter 5 #2
The small exchange settled awkwardly between them and then softened into something almost ordinary.
Holly went to her tiny linen closet and pulled out a pillow and a thick quilt she’d bought at an estate sale five years ago.
She liked to pretend it had belonged to someone kind.
She handed both to Reid, and their fingers brushed.
Neither of them moved too quickly. Neither of them held on to the quilt too long.
“I need to grab a bag from my truck,” Reid said.
She stepped to the door. “I have to walk Blue again. I’ll set the alarm downstairs after we’re back.”
“I can grab it on the way back from the walk.”
Of course he was going with her.
After realizing that someone could be watching her, it was almost a relief. A relief she didn’t want to feel.
Blue turned circles when Holly pulled on her raincoat and grabbed his leash, his excitement enough that she had trouble attaching it.
Reid’s eyes warmed as he opened the door. “He has a lot of energy.”
Blue yanked her out the door. “And believes he’s in charge.”
Outside, they did their usual route with a few side trips that Blue’s nose insisted on. Reid didn’t comment, only matched their pace. The rain had stopped, but the puddles were everywhere, and Blue thought each needed inspection.
When they returned to the building, the dog was soaked. Holly was glad she’d worn her raincoat after Blue had shaken himself close enough to spray her.
Reid grabbed a small duffel from his truck, and once they were all inside, Holly set the alarm and double-checked the locks before they climbed the stairs.
It was the first time all day she’d been grateful for the ritual.
Lock, alarm, lights, register, back door.
Each step had always marked the shop shifting from public to private, from community to quiet.
Tonight, with Reid standing nearby and the case pressing against every wall, the ritual felt like a promise she was making to herself.
Sanctuary was still hers. No one got to take that with a message on a punch card.
Upstairs again, Reid set his duffel beside the couch and removed his jacket.
He wore a dark T-shirt beneath it, and Holly made the mistake of noticing the width of his shoulders.
Not that she hadn’t noticed earlier, but down in the shop it had felt different.
More abstract. Here, in the privacy of her apartment, it brought back too many memories.
She turned toward the kitchen before that observation could do anything more destructive. “Water?” she asked.
“Please.”
She filled two glasses, handed one to him, and drank half of hers while Blue supervised from the center of the room. The dog watched Reid take off his boots.
“All I have for dinner is stuff to make sandwiches,” she said, trying not to sound embarrassed.
“Sandwiches are good.” He came into the kitchen and washed his hands. “What can I do to help?”
She directed him to the cabinet with plates before she dragged out cheese, lunchmeat, and bread. Condiments came next, which she had far too many of, and she also grabbed pickles, lettuce, and a tomato.
Reid built his sandwich, adding sliced pickles, a swipe of her favorite farmer’s market sauce, and a slice of tomato.
Blue sat very still, panting, and waiting for his dinner. She fed him before she made her sandwich.
Reid took a seat at the breakfast bar. “I bet he’s a good watchdog.”
She loaded her bread with turkey, provolone, and tomato, then slathered on the sauce. “He’s a bit hyper about it, actually. He thinks everything is a possible threat. Roni’s trying to make him more discerning, but it hasn’t worked yet.”
They ate in silence, the past bubbling under Holly’s skin. She wanted to say something, but the heaviness of the day weighed on her. They needed to have the conversation, but not when her emotions felt so raw.
Blue finished his meal and watched them eat theirs. “He’s also rude,” she said. Talking about Blue was safer territory.
“Watchful,” Reid countered. “Not begging, just alert for crumbs hitting the floor.”
True.
Reid helped her clean up, washing their plates and glasses.
Blue watched. He also watched Reid unfold the quilt over the couch when the kitchen was done.
Then Blue sank his teeth into the edge of his dog bed and dragged it three feet across the floor.
Holly stared at him. “What are you doing?”
Blue dragged the bed again, repositioning it halfway between the couch and the hallway to Holly’s bedroom. He circled twice, flopped down, and rested his chin on his paws where he could see both spaces.
Reid chuckled. “He’s decided to keep an eye on us both.”
Blue thumped his tail once, as if in agreement.
Holly checked the camera feed on her phone, confirmed the alarm was set, and made sure Blue’s water bowl was full. Reid set his phone on the coffee table and glanced toward the front door as if marking the distance in his head.
“I’m going to shower and go to bed,” she said. “I’ll leave fresh towels out for you.”
“Sounds good. I’ll be here.”
Holly nodded because she didn’t trust herself to answer.
The words were ordinary. They shouldn’t have touched the old bruise.
She retreated down the short hallway, closed the bathroom door, and took longer than necessary under the shower, letting the hot water beat against the back of her neck until the day loosened by fractions.
When she came out in pajamas and an old cardigan, the living room lamp was still on. Reid had changed into a soft gray shirt and dark lounge pants, and he was sitting on the edge of the couch, checking something on his phone.
Blue hadn’t moved from his chosen command post.
Reid glanced up. His gaze didn’t sweep over her, didn’t linger where it shouldn’t.
“If Blue snores, nudge him. He’ll pretend to be offended, but he’ll stop for maybe three minutes.”
“Got it.”
That should have been the end of it. She should have gone into her bedroom, closed the door, and let the day end. Instead, she stood in the hallway, one hand on the frame, looking at the man on her couch and the dog between them.
“Reid.”
He looked her way. “Yes?”
She had no idea what she’d intended to say. Thank you felt too small and too intimate at once. Don’t leave was absolutely not coming out of her mouth. I’m still angry with you belonged to another conversation. She settled for the one truth she could manage. “This is weird.”
His mouth softened. “Very.”
The tightness in her chest eased. “Okay.”
“Good night, Holly.”
“Good night.”
She went into her bedroom and left the door mostly open because Blue would scratch at it otherwise. The dog needed to see her. Apparently, tonight, he needed to see Reid, too.
Holly lay in bed and listened to the unfamiliar sounds of someone else settling in her space. The bathroom door closing, the sound of water running. The quiet creak of the couch minutes later with the faint rustle of the quilt. Blue’s nails clicked once as he adjusted his position.
Her apartment still felt like hers, but it also felt changed.
She turned onto her side and peered toward the open wedge of hallway. Blue’s body lay in a dark curve in his bed, his ears lifting at every small sound before settling again. Past him, she could see the dim edge of the living room lamp and the shape of Reid’s arm resting on the side of the couch.
She didn’t expect to fall asleep but found herself dozing off, feeling unsettled about the man on her couch and somehow also glad he was there.
Morning came too early, gray and damp at the windows, with Blue’s nose pressed under her hand and the smell of coffee drifting faintly from the kitchen.
Holly opened her eyes and went still. Reid is still here.
The thought arrived before she could stop it, clean and sharp and inconvenient.
She pressed the heel of her hand to her chest for half a breath.
Staying one night on a too-short couch because the FBI had made him responsible for her safety did not erase the morning he’d disappeared from her life.
It didn’t promise anything. It didn’t heal anything.
And yet…it mattered.
She dressed, brushed her teeth, twisted her hair into a loose braid, and stepped into the living room. Reid stood at the kitchen counter with Blue sitting at his feet in intense expectation.
He’d moved quietly enough not to wake her, but the evidence of him was everywhere in small, disorienting ways.
The folded quilt on the couch. His duffel near the wall.
His boots lined up by the door. A mug on the counter.
The low murmur of him speaking to Blue as if the dog were a reasonable adult and not a criminal with ears.
“He thinks I’m hiding bacon,” Reid said.
“You’re standing near the treat jar.”
“That explains the optimism.”
Holly reached past him for the jar, aware of the warm scent of soap and coffee on him. He wore jeans and a dark pullover and looked far too alert for a man who’d slept on her couch. She handed Blue a small biscuit, and the dog accepted it with the solemnity of a contract signing.
“You made coffee,” she said.
“I hope that’s not a firing offense.”
“Depends. Did you use the beans from the freezer?”
“No.”
“The grinder setting?”
“I didn’t touch it.”
“Then you may live.”
His mouth curved as he passed her a mug. “Good to hear.”
The coffee was strong and not terrible. That felt suspiciously like another point in his favor, so Holly took another sip and turned away.
They took Blue out before dawn had fully committed.
Sanctuary sat quiet beneath them as they went down the private stairwell and out the back, the alarm chirping softly when Holly disarmed it and reset it after they stepped outside.
The air smelled like wet pavement, yeast from the bakery, and the faint mineral dampness that clung to Blackridge after a solid day of rain.
Blue pranced ahead, delighted by the hour and his own importance.