Friendship.
If I were being honest, I would admit I might envision more. Admit there was something about him and his little girl that called to me. Awakening that place in me that I’d shored away, a place that had always wanted the simple things in life.
Simple is better.
How many times had my grandmother told me that very thing as she worked her recipes that always related so easily to life?
At the very least, I was seeking a truce in this cold war Rex seemed intent to wage against me when I’d committed no offense or crime.
I let the pie cool for a few minutes before I gathered my courage and slipped on my shoes. I stepped out into the breaking night. Once again, I was struck with the overpowering sense of comfort.
The scent of the fragrant honeysuckle. The sound of the bugs that trilled in the bushes. The towering trees blowing in the whispering breeze.
Home.
That same small window that gave a direct view into Rex’s house was lit. I could see him sitting by himself at a small table somewhere to the back of the kitchen area, continually raking a hand through his hair as he nursed a beer.
He appeared so utterly alone even though I’d seen him return home with his daughter about forty-five minutes ago.
My spying no longer gave me the sense of violating his privacy.
It felt like a mission.
That it held a purpose for his greater good. Or maybe his little girl’s. I didn’t know.
I just knew there was absolutely nothing I could do but stand at his door with a peace offering.
A thank you.
Balancing the gooey pie in both hands, I nudged at the door with my elbow. My heart sped when I heard the scraping of chair legs against the floor and the rustling within the house, my blood becoming a thunder that rushed through my veins.
Then I sensed the pause. The presence that was so clearly right on the other side of the door, that severity hot as it blazed through the wood.
There might as well have been no separation between us.
Because I could feel him. The conflict and reluctance.
God, why did he have this kind of effect on me?
It only grew when I felt the resignation, heard the slow slide of metal and the creak of hinges as he barely cracked open the door, only a single wary eye visible. “What are you doing here, Rynna?”
I lifted my hands so he could see what I was holding. “I baked you a pie.”
Exasperation bled into his tone as he opened the door a bit wider. “Why did you do that?”
“Because it’s a neighborly thing to do.” It almost came across as irritated. But then I was taken back to the way he’d stepped into the line of fire for me. The way he’d talked to me at the bar. Openly. As if he wanted to let me in but he didn’t know how or if he could. The way he’d taken off as if I had suddenly become a danger to him.
My voice deepened with sincerity. “You saved me last night, Rex, I wanted to properly thank you.”
“It’s not necessary,” he said, words gruff. If it weren’t for that flash in the depths of those eyes, I would have bought the act.
“I just—”
“Please...leave us alone, Rynna.” It was a plea.
He started to shut the door in my face again, but he winced, freezing when the sweet, excited voice broke through the aversion. “Ms. Dayne? What’cha doin’ here?”
She rubbed her tiny fists in her bleary eyes. The little girl took the definition of bedhead to a whole new level.
