“Uh, Rhett. I was going to say… if the offer’s still—well…”
“I’d love to help,” he says, reaching for his car door.
“I’m Elle,” I tell him. “And that’s Mira, my sister.”
Mira is standing at the top of the driveway, her arms wrapped over her middle, but also with a nervous smile on her lips.
Rhett climbs from the pickup and approaches her, kneeling in the dirt. “Hello, little lady,” he says. “Mira is a lovely name.”
Mira giggles. “Thank you. It was my grandma’s name. It’s pretty, right?”
“Verypretty.”
I caution the instinct in my heart, the warmth that threatens to melt the ice I’ve allowed to encase it. The ice is there for a reason: to protect me from charming men with silver threads in their hair and confidence in their stride.
“Whoa, he’s strong,” Mira says, sitting on the porch and kicking her legs as Rhett hauls the TV over his shoulder.
Mira’s not wrong. Rhett has handled most of the moving himself, carrying our stuff as though it’s weightless. His powerful body outlined by his tight shirt and worn jeans, in brief, tempting moments, I imagine his buttons popping, giving me a view of what I know is a magnificent chest.
But that’s a deep-down thought. That’s a fantasy from another life, not mine. I don’t let a single moment of this wayward feeling show on my face, in my posture, or anything.
Rhett carries the TV inside, then walks onto the porch, dusting his hands off on his jeans. It’s been two hours, and everything is inside except a couple of boxes.
“Thank you, Rhett,” I murmur.
He turns to me, dark eyes flitting up and down my body. Am I imagining that, or do I just want it to be true?
“Don’t mention it,” he says, reaching into his pocket. “I hope you don’t mind. I borrowed some paper.”
I roll my eyes. “We’d better call the cops.”
He chuckles, and I smile tightly. It feels too good to make him laugh. “It’s my number,” he says. “Just in case you need anything else.”
I reach up and close my hand around the paper. His rough hand brushes mine, and a spark runs up my arm. It’s electric and dangerous. I snatch my hand away.
Mira leaps up, skips over, and takes the paper from him. “Thank you, neighbor,” she says, her voice like sunlight through clouds on a murky day.
“I’ll take the rest of this inside,” Rhett says, keen eyes scanning me again, up and down, from my toes to the top of my head as if he likes what he sees.
“I’ll keep this very, very safe,” Mira says, folding the paper carefully.
When Rhett smiles down at her, she brightens, beaming up at him.
That ice around my heart creaks and groans as I watch my little sister open up for the first time in months.
I rush down the porch steps. “I’ll get the last few boxes, Rhett. You’ve done enough.”
“It’s no troub?—”
“I said I’ll do it,” I cut him off.
As I lean down to pick up the box, a terrifying idea grips me. I don’t know this man, and I’ve just turned my back on him and Mira. I look over my shoulder, still bent at the hip.
Rhett isn’t looking at Mira. He’s looking at me, staring, as if memorizing every detail, his fists clenched at his sides, his chest rising and falling as if he’s struggling to contain some emotion I’m not sure I want to identify. When he sees me looking, he quickly glances away.
But it’s too late. I saw.
My cheeks flush, making me appear like a naive know-nothing whose life a man hadn’t obliterated a year ago. I’m here for a new start with my sister, not to do… whatever this is.
