30
Jericho
I feel the tightness in my shoulders ease as Cheryl gets up to leave. I know why her presence unsettles me so much, but admitting it even to myself would mean that I’m still scared of my past when I vowed to myself that I’m over it. That I’ve outgrown the years I’d rather forget. But being in such close proximity to Cheryl, a police officer and Nora’s sister all in one, makes me sweat.
Coming here and laying such a loud claim on Nora probably wasn’t such a bright idea, but I acted on emotion. Especially when I saw that town inspector clearly antagonizing her. She didn’t come here for a meal. She came here for Nora. And I feel responsible for that.
Cheryl nods to Nora, says something about catching up later, then turns to me with a look that lands somewhere between amusement and warning.
“Nora’s got claws,” she says.
I grunt. “Noticed.”
She raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push. “All right then. Don’t cause trouble, Jericho.”
“No promises,” I reply, glancing at Nora and letting my guard down for a second so Cheryl can see how I really feel when I see her sister.
Cheryl snorts and walks off toward her cruiser. I don’t miss the way her watchful gaze lingers on me for a second longer than necessary—like she’s still trying to figure me out. Maybe she is.
I glance back at Nora. She’s moving around like a hamster on a wheel without pausing for a moment. It’s what she does when she’s trying to avoid something; I’ve already figured that much.
“Nora,” I call softly without any reaction from her. So I repeat a bit louder, “Nora.”
She finally pauses. Standing a few feet away, with arms crossed over her chest like she’s shielding herself; she looks guarded and a bit lost. Did I overdo it with my actions? Have they come at the wrong time? Or are they just unwanted at all?
There’s something else there too though—an edge, maybe. Like she’s waiting for me to say something wrong so she can go back to theold us. Or maybe she’s hoping I say something right.
Hell if I know—I’m the worst person to make this kind of decision in a relationship, especially one that’s just started forming.
“I should get back,” I mutter, jerking my chin toward the street. “Still got some plowing to finish before it gets icy.”
She doesn’t respond at first, just watches me. Her eyes are doing that searching thing again. It makes my skin itch.
“Yeah,” she replies automatically, glancing around the room. Her lower lip is caught between her teeth, making her look almost shy.
“I’ll see you around,” I add, softer this time.
Her expression flickers. She gives me a tiny nod. “Yeah. Sure.”
That’s all I get. That’s all I need, I guess. So I walk away without looking back, feeling like we’ve been thrown back where we started.
But I feel her.
Every step I take back to my truck feels heavy. Like I’m dragging her with me somehow, even when she’s standing perfectly still.
I work for a few more hours before heading back home. The snow has subsided, and I haven’t slept for nearly two days at this point. I need to shut my eyes and my brain off.
The porch of my house creaks under my boots. The accumulated snow over the last several hours can wait for later when I have enough energy to deal with it. I open the door, step inside, and let it close behind me.
And then I just… stand there. My hands curl into fists at my sides. I hate this. Thisalmost. This tightrope I keep walking with her. And I almost hate her.
She’s chaos in a sundress. Fire in a tea kettle. Always boiling under the surface, always one spark away from burning me alive, and the worst part is that she doesn’t even know it.
And I want to let her know. I’m fucking tired of sitting in the quiet shadows, waiting for life to pass me by because I’m too scared to poke my face from the darkness and possibly get burned.
I kick off my boots, toss my coat over the chair, and walk into the kitchen. I’ve got leftovers, half a sandwich, and zero appetite. The house is too quiet. Too still. Everything feels like it’s holding its breath.
I move through the living room, ignoring the creak in the floor I still haven’t fixed, and drop onto the couch like it insulted my mother.
