Or the look on her face when she came out of that call, a different person than before she picked up. Even today, working on the house all day before I left to come to Seven Stools to work my evening shift, she wasn’t the same Scottie.
I fought all day to ask her about it.
Hell, I cracked more jokes than usual to try to get a rise out of her.
Nothing.
Scottie gets under my skin in ways no one ever could. Every wall she builds I want to knock down. It’s been a constant battle with myself to get to this point, because one minute I felt a ping of regret for crossing the line, knowing she would see the deeper parts of me. Then the next minute, I want her to see everything. I want to give her everything.
I pull into my driveway and sit there for a second while I let the quiet hum of the truck drown out my racing thoughts. I turn my head toward my garage loft, where a single lamp glows behind the curtains of the window facing my house. It looks way too inviting for a man who should know better by now.
I tell myself I’m just checking to make sure she’s okay.
I kill the engine, step out of the truck and shut the door behind me. The night is cooler than usual, and crickets buzz somewhere in the woods. I look toward my house, the dark shape against the sky, with not a single lamp left on. It’s not as inviting as the loft apartment. When I turn around again to face the loft, off to the other side of the property line, it feels like its own little world.
Her little world, for now.
I’m just about to turn for my house when I pause, doing a double take when I see her.
She’s not in the window looking outside. She’s sitting on the bottom step of the staircase with her legs pulled up and her arms wrapped around her shins like she’s holding herself together by sheer force. She is wearing cotton shorts and an oversized sweatshirt, and her hair is pulled into a messy bun.
She looks…tired.
“Scottie?”
Her head jerks up. Even in the dim light shining from the top of the stairs, I can see it—red-rimmed eyes and a shine of tear tracks down her cheek. She scrubs at her cheeks quickly, like she can erase the evidence before I catch it.
“Hey,” she says, voice cracking as I walk across the driveway to where she sits. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be out here and bother you after working all day. There’s no seating on the deck, and I wanted to be outside for a bit.”
Shit. I should have put some chairs up there for her.
I should have told her she can use the ones on my porch.
“Bothering me?” I stop in front of her, crouching down untilI’m eye level with her. “You’re sitting on the stairs, and I was the one who called your name.”
A tiny huff of sound leaves her that resembles a ghost of a laugh. Then it dies, and the weight settles back in her shoulders.
“I figured you’d be asleep,” I continue, trending carefully but also wanting to make her laugh. “Or inside, plotting new ways to bully me about wall color.”
She stares down at the ground for a moment and then shakes her head.
This isnotthe Scottie I know.
I reach forward, resting a hand on her knee. My palm on her bare skin sends chills through my body at the same time her head snaps up, eyes meeting mine. She looks so fucking tired.
“What’s going on, Scottie?”
She sighs. “I just can’t sleep.”
“Why?”
She eyes me curiously, like she’s not sure if she’s ready to tell me more. Like she’s not ready to open up to me. I don’t blame her. We have an agreement for the show and nothing more.
“Is this about the show?” I ask when she doesn’t answer.
“All of it,” she says, swallowing. “We have so much left to do in the next two weeks. It’s starting to hit me that maybe I won’t be able to do this and that I’m in over my head.”
“You can,” I say before I can stop myself.
