I roll my eyes at what I know is his stern tone, even through a text message.
Me:
Yes, Sheriff.
Shoving my phone in my pocket, I hurry back to my workshop. I lock everything up, double-checking the back door too, before settling at my desk. Taking a deep breath seems like the easiest thing to do to calm my nerves, and it works to an extent until I see the letter sitting in the middle of my desk.
My heart drops to my stomach, and my blood runs cold.
How was I so caught up in my thoughts that I missed someone lurking around? That they not only had time to leave a package by the side door but also a letter in here? What the fuck is happening?
Me:
I’ve locked up my shop, but please hurry.
I attach a picture of the untouched letter and send it to Arlo as I continue to freak out. He doesn’t text me back—not that I expect him to, especially if he’s driving. But what I don’t expect is, no more than two minutes later, a pounding on my door that scares the shit out of me. A scream leaves me as Arlo’s voice sounds through the barrier.
“It’s me, Rina. Just me.”
My forehead thumps on the desk as I catch my breath. “Jesus, I don’t know how much more of this I can handle,” I mutter before standing up and rushing to the door before Arlo breaks it down.
Unlocking the deadbolt, I rip the door open as he rushes in without preamble. He beelines it to my desk and grabs the envelope carefully, looking at it in every direction. Squeezing my hands together, I hope it’ll help stop the shaking as I watch him analyze everything. He drops it back onto the desk, turning to me, and I can see him gearing up.
“How did you not see anyone?” His voice is loud, but it’s the hint of fear I hear that stops me from yelling back at him.
“I just didn’t, Arlo,” I say softly.
I step up to him, wrap my arms around his waist, and lean into him. The air seems to release from him all at once as his arms come around me.
“What the fuck is going on?” he asks.
“I wish I knew. I don’t know who is doing this or who I pissed off, but I don’t want to live like this.”
“You won’t. I’ll be by your side from now on.”
I pull back from his hold. “No, you will not.”
“Oh, hell yes, I will. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
“I don’t need a babysitter, Arlo,” I scoff.
His grip on me tightens. “I can’t let anything happen to you, okay? Just … let me figure this out how I need to.”
Sighing, I lean into him once again. We take a minute to let the adrenaline mellow out and for both of us to be a little more level-headed.
“Sorry,” Arlo finally murmurs against the crown of my head.
“I get it. I’m just not good at accepting help, especially from someone I’m used to hating.”
“Does that mean you don’t hate me anymore?” he asks.
“It means we have some talking to do.” I pull back and look up into his eyes. I still see the underlying fear, but I also see determination.
“Let me grab the stuff that was left, and then we’ll head to the house.” His sheriff voice is present, and it almost makes me laugh. Until I realize he wants me to go back into my house, and just the thought has my anxiety ramping up.
“Umm, do you think we can, maybe, go to your place?”
His head whips around after he grabs the letter, and his eyes soften as he looks at me.
