“I…I don’t know.” She gestured up at the house. “I should…”
“What? You don’t trust me?” He held out his hands.
“Men have never given me much reason to trust them.” She folded her arms, almost hugging herself.
“I saved you from that hellhole,” Jamie said, his voice soft, “got you fed and clothed, a doctor to check you over, and safe place to stay. I’ve done nothing to make younottrust me.”
“I know, and I’m grateful.” She studied her white sandals. “But…”
“Sorenna.” Jamie took a step closer and touched her arm, gently, as though she were a deer about to bolt. “I’d never do anything to hurt you, and I won’t do anything to stop you trusting me. And if I need to earn that trust, let me.”
“Where…where will we go?”
He smiled. “There’s a restaurant, down by the river, great food, Michelin star. Could you eat?”
“I…I think so.”
“So come on.”
“I haven’t got any money.”
“Don’t worry about money.”
“But—?”
“I mean it, I’ve got plenty.” He gently steered her to the car and opened the door. “And we’ll be back before dark if you’d prefer.”
“Yes, I would. Thank you.” She sat in the car.
Jamie whizzed around the front and dropped into the driver’s seat.
In whirl of tires and crunch of gravel, they were gone.
“Fuck,” I muttered, stepping out from behind the house and running my hand through my hair. “That could get complicated for him.”
Chapter Twelve
Amy
The fair!
Trying to second-guess this new man of mine was practically impossible. Who’d have thought he’d plan a night of dodgems, ghost trains, loud music, and excited crowds?
But then I had been seeing posters all week for the traveling fairground that was in town. Maybe it would be fun. I’d been once before, with Becca not long after I’d moved to Oxford. She’d wanted me to experience it even though it was for kids. Said I’d missed out on a childhood treat.
It had been loud and bright and busy. The fast rides spun my head, and the candy floss had made my lips sticky and given me a sugar rush.
Biting on my bottom lip, I studied my wardrobe. I’d made a few online purchases that I hoped Mitch would like. Settling on a white t-shirt with Barbie written on it three times—red, pink, purple—in its iconic sloping font, a baby-pink skirt that matched pink socks and pumps, I dressed quickly. I put my hair in bunches, looping white ribbons close to my head, and just for good measure I used a brown kohl pencil to give myself a smattering of freckles over my nose and onto my cheeks. I already had a few, but this upped the cuteness.
I was pleased with the end result.
Ten minutes later, my intercom buzzed.
“Hi, Daddy.” I smiled at Mitch’s image on the screen.
“Get your sexy ass down here,” he said gruffly.
“One minute. I’ll just get—”
