“No, I just . . . it’s pathetic. And silly.”
“Laken, where do you want this box?”
Arabella glanced over as Shaw walked in. What was he doing here?
“Arabella? Hi.” He gave her a small smile.
Shoot. He still looked worn out.
“Shit, they’re coming in!” the other woman said. “Shaw, quick, hide her.”
“Why? What’s going on?” Shaw asked.
“Incoming. K and E. She’s hiding from them.”
Shaw grinned and Arabella groaned even as she rushed over to him. She tripped and practically fell against him. But he managed to keep on his feet.
“I’m never going to hear the end of this, am I?” she asked.
“Nope,” Shaw replied as he grabbed her hand and led her into the backroom.
To her surprise, Horse followed along without any sort of protest.
With a sigh, she sat on one of the chairs he indicated just as she heard masculine voices from the shop.
“Am I an idiot?” she asked.
“Hmm, that depends on why we’re hiding from them. Is it because you hate them and don’t want to talk to them? Or because you’re attracted to them and don’t want to talk to them?”
“Is there a third option?” she asked tiredly. “Like that I just don’t want to talk to anyone?”
“I’m so hurt,” he gasped, putting his hand on his chest as he sat across from her.
Had he been ill? She wanted to ask but wasn’t sure how. She could do small talk for hours but a meaningful conversation with someone she actually cared about?
Yeah. That wasn’t something she was used to.
Would it be rude to ask?
“Sorry,” she said hastily. “I didn’t mean you. Of course I want to talk to you. You’re actually part of the reason I came here.”
“I am?” He gave her a startled look.
“Um yeah. Meeting you that night, the way you and Devon looked after me . . .” she shrugged. “I guess I’d never experienced anything like that before. And you guys were strangers. It felt so good to have someone care.”
“Oh, darlin’. I’d like to have a few words with your fuckhead father.”
“Ah, that’s impossible, unfortunately. He’s dead.”
Shaw narrowed his gaze with a nod.
“Are you all right, Shaw?” she asked, forcing the words out of her mouth.
If he told her to mind her own business . . . well, that would hurt. But she had to ask.
“I was a Navy Seal,” he said suddenly. “I got injured on the job and addicted to opioids. Dishonorably discharged and ended up on the streets of San Diego trying to escape my reality with a concoction of pills.”
“Oh, Shaw,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”
