Several strands of her loose waves have fallen into her face, and when Max’s tongue lolls out of his mouth in pure bliss, there’s a quick curve of her lips. Suddenly, I’m jealous of my own damn dog.
I don’t mean to startle her, but she doesn’t hear me approach. “Is this you not doing dogs?”
She jumps, yanking her hand from Max. Her wide bright eyes stare up at me, and I smile, happy that the expression I’ve elicited is one of surprise versus contempt. For a woman I assume has walls erected around her, she’s fairly expressive—I wonder what other stories those eyes have held, and how I might know them.
When I move to sit next to her, the vulnerable shock on her face morphs into confusion and then annoyance. “What are you doing?”
“Sitting.”
“Why?” She crosses her arms, much to Max’s dismay.
He huffs, then sneezes, and I snicker, but Lily seems less than thrilled.
“Figured you could use the company?” I raise the end of my statement like a question, and she raises her eyebrows in tandem.
I’ve watched her over the past hour. Saw her travel from booth to booth, sampling chili and taking her selections on her clipboard entirely too seriously. The common theme—she’s alone. Most everyone here has come with someone. Family. Friends. Co-workers. Not her, though.
And while it adds to the mystery of Lily Parker, it also bothers me. The fact I know she was alone on the trail that day all those weeks ago, by herself in the hospital, and now here. Is it intentional or circumstantial?
When she says nothing, I turn toward her, draping an arm across the back of the bench. “So what brings you to Pinebrook?”
She looks at me, her piercing gaze numbing my tongue from any follow-up questions about anything else.
“What’s it to you, Ranger?” She says it without animosity, but her fingers clench in her lap, turning white as she squeezes.
I shrug. “Curious.”
She snorts out a laugh, but it sounds genuine. Like the time in the diner, and for a moment pride swells somewhere deep within me. That is, until she doesn’t answer, and we continue to sit there in companionable silence.
“I think I’ve had my fill of chili,” I say, reaching for something, anything.
She smirks. “Yeah.”
Okay.
I’m feeling awkward, like a creep who won’t go away with her one-word answers. I’m not sure if I’m figuring her out or if it’s the weight of the responsibility I feel after her trail accident, but either way, I convince myself to keep trying.
Somewhere deep, the churning fear about my mother passing and leaving me alone echoes, and maybe … maybe I don’t want Lily’s predicament to become my own.
Maybe that’s why it bothers me so much that she’s alone.
“Didn’t come here with anyone?”
She gives me a quick glance over, and I wince realizing how that sounds.
“Nope.” She pops thePand shifts on the bench seat, looking out toward the tables.
I follow her line of sight, noticing Morgan watching us. When I meet her stare, she averts her gaze.
I sigh.
I’m about to give up, to push pause—no, temper my desire—on getting to know Lily. She doesn’t want me here. Max had better luck with this woman.
But then she speaks.
“Is your mom here?”
Her voice is softer than I’d expect, and her asking about my mother is shocking, but her tone carries this unguarded honesty that hits like a shot of adrenaline straight to my chest.
