Her voice shakes. “Why did you agree to that?”
Because I watched her ex corner her. Because I heard the fear she tried to hide. Because I’ve been circling her for weeks and something primal snapped when someone threatened her stability.
But I don’t say any of that. Instead I say, “Because you needed help.”
She looks up sharply. “I told you I can handle my own life.”
“You don’t have to handle it alone,” I say, softer now. “Let me help you.”
Her lips part. That tiny sound she makes—like a startled exhale—hits deeper than it should.
“I shouldn’t have said it,” she breathes. “I didn’t think. It just came out.”
“And I didn’t hesitate,” I tell her. “That should tell you something.”
Her eyes jump to mine. “What does it tell me?”
“That I’m not letting you deal with this guy alone.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I know.”
She swallows, gaze flicking away, overwhelmed and flustered.
“It’ll blow over,” she whispers.
“No, it won’t.”
She stiffens.
I step closer, crowding her into the corkboard again. “Not with the way this town is.”
“What do you mean?” she asks quietly.
I smirk faintly. “Check your phone.”
She blinks. “Why?”
“Just check.”
She fishes it out with trembling fingers. Unlocks it. Gasps.
“Oh my god.”
I try not to laugh. “Told you.”
Her eyes dart across the screen.
There it is: A photo someone snapped in the two seconds my hand touched her back.
Uploaded to the town’s Facebook group, which is apparently run by lunatics.
The caption:
CONGRATS TO OUR FIRE CAPTAIN HOTTIE & THE NEW KINDER QUEEN — ENGAGED!
She makes a choked noise. “My mother follows this group.”
