“You’re not alone. I’m right here.”
The blanket-like, warm sensation I’d gotten earlier came back, and the comfort of it pulled words from my mouth. “Do you want to come inside?”
A pause passed.
“Um …”
I recognized how my question had sounded and quickly clarified. “I mean come inside to keep watch. Since all you gave me was this old bat, I’d really rather have your gun in the house than out there on the street. And besides, I can make you coffee to help keep you up.” It all came spilling out, and I flushed at how clumsy I’d sounded.
Bray seemed to consider it. I heard a shuffling from inside the car. “Sure,” he said. “I can come inside. I have something for you anyway.”
My interest was piqued. “Okay. Use your key so I know it’s you.”
He quietly laughed. “You’re not going to hit me with an umbrella again, are you?”
“No. I have a bat now, remember?”
“See you in a minute.”
In that minute, I put my bra back on and swept my messy hair up into a ponytail. I gingerly walked down the hall and heard his key in the lock. I reached the door at the same time he opened it. He stepped inside carrying a bag from a sporting goods store along with his messenger bag and wearing a collared shirt under a windbreaker. His hair looked damp, and he smelled like a fresh shower.
“Hi,” he said, and quickly stepped out of the way to close the door behind him. Doing so brought him closer to where I stood. We bumped into each other for a split second.
“Sorry,” I said.
He shot me a smile and locked the door. I watched him throw the dead bolt so I knew it was locked, and then I clocked his gun holstered on his hip.
I let out a breath of relief at both things.
We stood together in the small entryway, his size taking up most of it, and I couldn’t help but feel safer with him close by.
“Thanks for coming in.”
He softly smiled down at me and didn’t move. The air between us grew heavy. “Of course.”
Tearing myself from his gaze felt like a physical effort. “Do you want some coffee?” I asked, and turned toward the kitchen.
“Sure.” He followed, his footsteps louder and heavier than mine in my socks with only one good foot. “You seem to be walking better,” he said when we made it to the kitchen. He lifted the bag onto the dining table.
I reached for one of the colorful mugs hanging from the hutch. “Yes, well I had my ankle expertly wrapped earlier, and it helped a lot. What’s in the bag?”
The rustle of a shopping bag filled the air behind me when I turned around to make the coffee.
“Your new shoes.” He pulled one out and modeled it like a Home Shopping Network product. A ribbon of hot pink ran down each side of the sleek black sneaker. It looked fast sitting still.
“Running shoes,” I said with a nod. “Is that so I can faster escape bad guys chasing me down alleys?”
“That, and so you are comfortable on your feet with two small children all day,” he said with a grin.
I rolled my eyes, which I’d done more in the past few days since I’d met him than I probably had in the past ten years combined.
His K-Cup finished brewing, and I handed him the steaming mug. I grabbed one for myself and set it under the machine.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Mak-ing coff-ee …” I said, splitting up all the syllables to make it more obvious.
He reached out and took the mug from me. “You can’t have coffee now. You have to sleep because you have to work tomorrow.”
