“Yes,” I say wistfully, closing my eyes for a moment, picturing it in my mind. “The woman has a wool shop. Rows upon rows of soft skeins, dyed in muted tones. Organic hues, because, you know…”
A grandfather clock ticks from the corner, the air conditioner firing back up with a lazy wheeze.
“So, maybe they have sheep?” he asks, concentrating on the empty hearth. Pity it’s summer. I can almost imagine the firelight dancing in those dark eyes.
“Maybe. Or how about Angora bunnies?”
“Bunnies? Seriously, woman? Next, you’ll be saying llamas … or alpacas?—”
“Yes!” I set the crocheting down, clapping my hands together. “Alpacas are it.”
He shifts stiffly but doesn’t move away. Not one inch, though the heat between us boils. Climate control or not.
He quirks his mouth deep in thought. “A far cry from the stage and fame…”
“Far as you can get, I’d imagine.”
He eyes me, able to hide every emotion, though I can tell his thoughts are rolling again—with the force of a freight train. “That really what you want? Peace? Quiet?”
“With the right person, I think so.”
The air sizzles between us, thick enough to cut.
Without warning, he explodes to his feet, pacing toward the hearth and resting his hands on the mantle. “You’d like it for a few days, maybe weeks. But then you’d miss it.”
“Miss what?”
“The roar of the crowd. The fame. The people stomping their feet and chanting your name. Nothing like it in the world. It could haunt a person.”
He says it as if he understands. Like he’s speaking from experience rather than wisdom.
“Is that what you miss?” I ask.
He turns to face me, a dizzy sort of pain written in his features. And with it, anger. The realization hits me too late. I’ve asked something unforgivable.
Maverick slides past me slow and easily. But his face can’t hide the storm. “Back on duty. Permanently, just so we’re clear.”
His words are a slamming door.
“But—”
“Need to make some phone calls.”
I follow him with my eyes, breath hitching. I pushed too far. Now, I’m going to pay for it. Should’ve known better. Never met a person with steeper, thicker walls except for me. “You’re not leaving me. Are you?”
“Not yet.”
“But soon?” I knit my brow.
“We could both use a shift change.”
“Maybe you can take a break,” I reply, voice shaking. “But this is my life, and as far as I can tell, you’re the only person on this planet who I can trust right now. Please don’t forget it.”
He opens his mouth to lie to me. Maybe to tell me I’m wrong, or I’ve got other options. But then, our eyes meet, and he clenches his jaw. “I won’t forget.”
I can tell by the steel in his voice, the intensity in his gaze, that he means what he says. More than anyone ever has before.
And so I don’t say goodbye.
