“I got a job at the penitentiary. As a nurse.”
I nearly choked. “You’re kidding. You know it’s an all-male penitentiary, right?”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
“All due respect, but aren’t you a little afraid of being caged in a building with violent criminals?”
She straightened, something fierce flickering in her tired eyes. “At least there, the dangerous men can’t follow me home.”
The weight of her words echoed in my head. What kind of evil was worse than spending your days surrounded by convicted criminals?
“So, what’s wrong?” Harper asked suddenly, studying myface, clearly wanting to change the subject. “No offense, but you look like you’re in a bad mood.”
“In addition to the whole charged-with-murder thing?” I teased.
She didn’t smile. Just waited.
I took a shaky breath. Normally, I wouldn’t make conversation about feelings with someone I just met, but these days, my life felt upside down. So, what the hell? “I think my almost-maybe boyfriend preemptively dumped me.”
“Almost-maybe boyfriend?”
“You know how it is. You’re not technically dating yet. But you’re spending a ton of time together, feelings are growing, everything feels amazing, and then …” I gestured helplessly. “Then you say something that scares him off so badly, he can’t get out of there fast enough.”
Her expression darkened. “Your almost-maybe boyfriend sounds like a dick.”
I smiled. “I wish he were. It would make everything so much easier. Then I could just hate him and move on.”
She was quiet for a moment, swirling the wine in her glass. “Well, at least you’re an interesting person.”
“You don’t know that.”
“You’re the first person I’ve ever met who’s been accused of murder.” She said it like she was complimenting my shoes, and I had to bite back a laugh.
“Plus,” she added, “you’ve got reporters potentially lurking around your house. That definitely makes you interesting.”
“Glad my life’s a dumpster fire that can provide you some entertainment.”
“That’s what neighbors are for.” She raised her drink in a mock toast, and for the first time since she’d arrived, she almost smiled. “Besides, it’s nice to know I’m not the only one having a spectacularly shit week.”
“Month,” I corrected. “Spectacularly shit month.”
“Well then.” She took a long sip of her wine. “Here’s to spectacularly shit times and the neighbors who witness them.”
I clinked my glass against hers again, and something loosened in my chest. Something that had been wound tight since Ryker walked out my door with that careful, distant expression on his face.
Maybe this was what I needed. Not someone who looked at me like I was a case to be solved or a problem to be managed. Just someone who saw my mess and said,Yeah, me too.
“You know,” Harper said, glancing toward the window, “I was terrified to knock on your door tonight. Thought you’d either slam it in my face or think I was crazy.”
“I do think you’re crazy,” I said. “You moved in next to an alleged murderer and accepted a drink from her.”
“Fair point.” She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. The exhaustion there went deeper than just lack of sleep. It was the bone-deep kind that came from running too long, looking over your shoulder too many times, never feeling safe enough to rest.
I knew that exhaustion intimately.
“For what it’s worth,” I said quietly, “you’re welcome here. Anytime. Day or night. Even if it’s just because you heard a noise or don’t want to be alone.”
Her eyes went glassy for a second before she blinked it away. “Thanks. That … that means more than you know.”
