His eyes were fixed forward again, but something in his expression had softened.Unshielded for a heartbeat.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Brick said.
Her heart thudded painfully.
Brick shifted again, uncomfortable for reasons she couldn’t read, then reached into the chest pocket of his cut.He pulled out his phone, tapped a few times, then held it out to her.
“Put your number in,” he said.
Tessa stared, not breathing.“You want my number?”
“Yeah.”The word left him gruff, like it scraped something raw on the way out.“And—” He cleared his throat.“And I’ll give you mine.”
Her fingers shook as she took the phone, entering her contact.When she handed it back, Brick saved it without looking at her.
He wasn’t good at this, she realized.At connection or letting people near his edges.Yet he was trying for her.
“If anything happens,” he said, finally meeting her eyes, “you call me.Or text.Doesn’t matter the time.”
Something melted inside her.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Brick flinched.
“Just doing my job,” he muttered.
“No.”Her voice gentled.“You were protecting me.”
His breath hitched.He didn’t deny it.The quiet that settled between them wasn’t empty or cold or tense.It vibrated.Warm and thick with something neither of them had a definition for yet.
Something that felt like the beginning of a line tying them together.
Tessa reached for the door handle, stepping out of the vehicle.The night air wrapped around her, cooler than the heat Brick carried with him.
She turned back, one hand on the frame.“Good night, Brick.”
He stared at her for a second too long, like pulling his gaze away required effort.
“Night, Tessa.”
The way he said her name, low and rough and careful, sent a shiver down her spine.
As she started up her walkway, she glanced back one last time.Brick was still there, watching until she reached her porch, until she unlocked the door, until she stepped safely inside and turned on the hall light.Only then did he put the Jeep in drive and pull away.
