“Thanks. That will help me when I Google you later.” I smile because it’s a joke, but to Brynn, it’s obviously not a joke. Her head whips toward me, her face pale.
“Hey,” I say softly. Without thinking, I reach over and find her, my fingers brushing along the outside of her forearm. “I was just kidding.”
She nods, a quick, almost manic motion. “Sure,” she says, her voice shaking. “No big deal.”
The hand that was touching her goes back to the steering wheel, even though I really don’t want it to. I want to keep touching Brynn. I want to sink into her obvious agony and shoulder some of the burden. I don’t even know why.
* * *
The next fourhours are spent changing locks. The house we’re working on is a new-build, and the homeowner wants new locks now that they are moved in.
Brynn is smart, strong, and a quick learner. Teaching her what to do isn’t as hard as I thought it might be. Her eyebrows furrow as she listens to me, and she purses her lips. When she concentrates, the tip of her tongue darts out and rests against her upper lip.
By the time we’re done it’s later than I thought, and my stomach is rumbling. I find her finishing the last lock. “Lunch?” I ask her.
She tucks her hair behind her ear and steps back. “Can you check this, please? I want to make sure it’s done right.”
I reach out, testing the lock, and nod. “Good work. It’ll keep the bad guys out.” I wink at her, but somehow I’ve misstepped again. Her eyes cloud with fear.Dammit. Every time I open my mouth, I’m saying the wrong thing to her.
She clears her throat. “Lunch would be good.”
I find the homeowner and say goodbye, letting them know my mom will send them an invoice.
We head for my truck and climb in. “Where to?” she asks. “I haven’t explored much past my house.”
“Route 66 diner. They make my favorite sandwich. My mom’s best friend works there, and so does your neighbor, Cassidy.”
I slow to a stop at a red light and look at Brynn. She’s drumming a beat on her thigh with her fingertips and gazing out the windshield. It’s not hard to see what Cassidy saw the day she met Brynn, but I see what Cassidy missed. The hollows in her eyes, and the fear that slips through the cracks of her tough exterior. There is far more to her, and I don’t think she will ever give it away.
From our handful of interactions I’ve learned not to ask her personal questions, so if I want to learn about her, I’m going to have to get creative.
“What did you think of today?”
I’m shooting for a casual tone as we get out of my truck and walk to the diner. She’s one step ahead of me and gets to the door first. She reaches for the handle, but I’m faster, reaching around her and pulling open the door. She stiffens, looking up at me before stepping in.
“This isn’t a date. I can open a door.” Her voice is quiet, matching the volume of the diner. It’s late for lunch, and there are only a few people in here eating.
Irritation surges. “It’s called basic manners, Brynn. It doesn’t mean I think this is a date.”
“Sorry,” she mutters.
Her apology takes me by surprise. I was expecting a scathing reply.
Snagging one menu off the small hostess stand, I lead her to a nearby open booth. “Let’s get you fed. I think you might be hangry,” I say, sliding in.
Brynn laughs, and then covers her mouth with her hand. She slides in across from me, dragging the menu with her as she goes.
“You’re slipping,” I tell her, sitting back and resting my arm across the top of the booth.
She looks up. “What are you talking about?”
“Your tough girl act. It’s slipping a little. You just laughed,” I point out. “Next you might smile, and then a pig will fly by the window, and who knows what else might start happening.”
“Hell might freeze over?”
I shrug. “Anything is possible.”
She looks back down to the menu. “I’ve been known to smile a time or two.”
