“I don’t… I—um.” I pause to breathe. “Bella is usually the only person I hang out with.”
I pull my cardigan over my hands. Chase clocks my movement. He doesn’t respond, but his lips twitch at my confession, a silent acknowledgment that he’s pleased I’m being honest with him.
“I don’t really know how to do this.” I sigh and wonder if I’ve been too honest.
He walks over to me.
Slow, cautious steps.
“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to. I won’t be offended if you choose to stay in and curl up with a book. But, if you do choose to come, you’ll be safe with me,” he says, with his hands in his pockets.
I stare at him, pleasantly surprised, as his deep chuckle sets off a traitorous flutter in me.
I am not my mother.
I am not my mother.
I am not my mother.
“Safe?” I repeat.
“I won’t let anything happen to you. Won’t make you uncomfortable or regret leaving your house. You’ll be safe,” he repeats.
The word hits me like a wave deep in my gut, causing an ache I don’t expect—kind, nurturing, unfamiliar. Safety isn’t a thing I associate with men.
“Spend the day with me, Bookworm.” He holds out his hand. I stare at it for a few seconds before looking up at his face. “Who knows, you might like it.”
His words buzz around me because the truth is, I think I will.
And that’s the problem.
Wanting is dangerous.
It’s beenthree days since I last saw Erin, and I can still smell her peaches and mango shampoo as if she’s sitting right next to me, luring me to her with the pull of a siren.
She barely uttered a word at Roman’s Little League game, but she clapped and cheered for his team along with everyone else. We’d spent the entire day together, and it was…nice. So nice that days later I’m walking the streets of Huxley Bay on my way to Bakes by the Lakes still thinking about her. The girl whose scent I can’t get out of my head. The girl I’m dying to kiss.
It’s early, I know.
But for the first time in months, my mind isn’t stuck on hockey or this off-the-books investigation.
It’s refreshing.
And I know it’s not about sex. I haven’t been with anyone since before the accident—I haven’t wanted to—but it’s more than that.
When I think about her, I want to get to know her. I want to know what makes her laugh, what makes her smile, and what she loves to do besides getting lost in books. I want to know everything I possibly can and then some. And for some reason, it feels like I might explode if I can’t.
I don’t have Erin’s number yet. Bella’s offered it a few times. A younger version of myself would have snatched it up and fired off a text immediately, but Erin deserves more than that. I don’t know why, but I want toearnevery single part of her.
I sound pathetic, but I don’t care.
The smell of freshly baked pies attack my senses when I push open the door to Bakes by the Lakes. It does nothing to wash away her scent, the fruity tropical mix that clung to my skin after I showered at her place.
I turn on instinct.
In the corner of the café, Erin sits with a book in her hand. An empty coffee mug and a packet of Jelly Tots rest on the table beside her.
She’s perfect.
