“I’m enjoying you.”
Her mouth parted slightly, the irritation in her eyes softening.
Markie shouted, “NO THANK YOU.”
Zoey threw her head back. “I’m going to rehome him.”
I snorted. “You won’t.”
“No,” she admitted. “I won’t.”
The quiet returned, thinner now but still charged. She looked up at me, cheeks flushed, hair slightly disheveled. Her stubborn streak showed in her eyes, and I imagined she was fighting the same feeling I was.
I wanted to close the distance again.
I didn’t. Couldn’t.
“I’ll see you at eight,” I said.
She stared at me for a second longer, then sighed. “See you at eight.”
In the other room, Markie clicked in approval. Neither of us acknowledged it. I flashed Zoey a smile, then left.
When I stepped outside, the Adirondack night wrapped around me. I could smell pine and cold water, the distant wood smoke from someone’s stove a few streets over.
I stayed on the front step longer than I needed to, keys in my hand.
This part of town sat just off the main road that led to the lake, then out toward Pine Hollow. The old mill houses had been converted into apartments with narrow porches and gravel driveways tucked between buildings. Beyond the last row of roofs, the mountains rose against the sky.
With my enhanced hearing, I picked up on all the sounds of the night. Pipes. A footstep above. A truck rumbling toward Route 9N. Somewhere farther off, a dog barked once and then stopped.
Upstairs, Zoey was alone.
She had passed the concussion window. Her phone was charging on her nightstand, and she had water on hand. Doors locked. Windows secured.
I had checked them all more than once.
I walked down the steps. The sidewalk held the day’s leftover warmth, but the temperature had already started to drop. Even in summer, the Adirondacks reminded you that the mountains ran the schedule.
I should have kept going.
Instead, I turned slowly and scanned the street again. Porch lights glowed soft yellow. Pickup trucks parked nose-to-nose. A canoe strapped to the roof of a car that probably hadn’t moved since the previous weekend. No movement where there shouldn’t be any.
It was a safe neighborhood. Tourists didn’t come this far into town. Locals locked their doors and minded their business.
That knowledge did nothing to quiet the tension simmering under my skin.
Something in me had been activated, and I hadn’t felt so focused and directed in years. It had started the night at the B&B. I had tried to tell myself it was just attraction and that it would settle when she left Pine Hollow.
It hadn’t settled. It had sharpened.
I moved down the sidewalk and checked the side alley. Gate latched. Dumpster lids closed. Shadows undisturbed. I tested the gate anyway. The metal gave slightly under pressure, then held.
My body had already made a decision before my thoughts caught up.
The routine of the last few days had rooted itself in me quickly. Wake Zoey. Check her pupils. Ask her orientationquestions. Make food. Carry her when she let me. Step back when she needed it.
I’d liked the responsibility and the closeness. I’d even liked the way she fought it.
