Unless this is all an act.
It wouldn’t be the first time someone’s played me like that. Pretended to be someone they were not. Got under my skin and used my trust and faith in them to burn me. But I promised that it would be the last.
Which means keeping Liam at arm’s length even when, in this moment, all I want is to let him draw me into his.
Even though I know this isn’t an act.
Even though I know he is genuine.
I can’t risk it.
I can’t risk him.
“I have to go in and shower and go to bed. I have an early shift at the diner again tomorrow.”
He offers me a soft smile. “Make sure you’re not working too hard. You should do something fun, too.”
“Like what?”
“The falls are great. Have you been?”
I quickly avert my gaze.
He doesn’t need to know that that’s where I was camped out the night he found Gizmo on the road and that Giz probably ran off chasing a squirrel or something else while I slept on the dirt with my backpack as a pillow.
“No”—I shake my head, trying to keep my voice level—“I haven’t been.”
“I’ll take you one day.”
I should say no.
But right now, I just need to put some space between us so I can think and try to figure out what I’m going to do next.
“Okay. Well, good night.” I pull open the door, and Gizmo darts in, anxious to eat after my long shift. I start to follow him in, then turn back to Liam. “Thank you for walking me home. I appreciate it.”
“Any time.”
Liam inclines his head toward me, then slowly makes his way down the steps and disappears into the calm summer night.
I stand at the door for a few moments, watching the street through the glass, looking for signs of anyone who might still be lingering in the heavy darkness the groups of trees everywhere provide, but all is quiet.
That’s the thing about McBride Mountain, it’s almost too quiet.
Every little sound startles me because there isn’t that constant buzz of energy and adrenaline like there is in the city. I can sleep through fire engines, airplanes taking off and landing overhead, screaming neighbors, crying babies, and barking dogs as if they don’t exist, but chirping crickets and light breezes are enough to send me spiraling now.
I close the door, throw the deadbolt and secure the chain, then reach into my purse and pull out the .22 tucked there, setting it on the table next to the chair arranged so I can watch out the front window—the same place I’ve set up every night since I’ve been here.
Gizmo runs ahead and leaps up onto the bed that only he has slept on, and I follow him and rub his belly as he rolls onto his back.
“This would be a lot easier if you didn’t like him.”
His tongue lolls out to the side.
This dog isn’t the least bit worried about Liam McBride, and that’s more dangerous than if he saw him as a threat.
You can’t stay.
I’ve told myself that so many times over the past week, whenever it starts to feel comfortable and safe.
