Should I send her another text?
Probably not.
With a sigh, I shoved my phone into my pocket and mounted Maisie's bike. And then, feeling like a giant clod, I took off down Main Street, hoping to clear my head.
The street and sidewalks were a blur of motion and noise, filled with tourists sampling fudge, souvenir hunters drifting from shop to shop, and countless bikes along with horse-drawn carriages.
It was madness, but I liked it, maybe even loved it, the whole small-town vibe that made me feel nice and cozy compared to Chicago.
As I pedaled beyond the main tourist area, the clip-clop of hooves faded, and the island started to breathe.
To my right, Lake Huron glittered like glass in the morning sun, and I couldn't help but smile – until my mind drifted to the day I'd first shown up on Maisie Pickett's front porch.
Sure, I'd needed a place to lay low. But mostly I'd come looking forher.
Not Maisie.
Delaney.My sister.
10
Cozy as a Crime Scene
Ryder
Now that Griff had gotten a good eyeful of the outside, it was time to show him the best part – the place where he'd actually be sleeping.
It was no luxury suite.
I nodded toward the boathouse. "Your place is upstairs."
He gave the upper level a long, slow glare. "My place. But not my choice."
No kidding.
But hey, we couldn'tallbe choosers.
I led him around to the side door and pulled it open. Right on cue, a musty wave of dockside funk hit like a punch to the face. I'd expected it.Hell, I'd counted on it.
But Griff? Yeah, he looked surprised, and not in a good way.Perfect.If the smell didn't break him, nothing would.
The stairs groaned under our weight as we climbed up the narrow stairway – me bounding, Griff trudging. When we reached the top, I threw open the door with an extravagant flourish to reveal a studio apartment smaller than Griff's guest room in Chicago.
The place was a dump, sure, but it was dry, had a view, and most importantly, it proved a point.Things could always be worse.
I said, "Cozy, right?"
He grimaced. "Yeah, cozy as a crime scene."
I grinned. "Oh, come on. You've slept in worse."
His silence said otherwise. And that only made me grin harder.
The guy was taking it exactly as I'd hoped, with insulted pride, reluctant endurance, and a spark of challenge underneath – a challenge he sorely needed, whether he realized it or not.
I watched as his eyes zoomed in on the tiny bathroom, located directly across from us. The door was wide open – just like I'd left it.
Glumly, he studied the small space – so obscenely compact that the toilet was barely a foot from the sink – and I didn't mean next to it either.
