Turns out I was turned on.
But that was nothing compared to what I feel around Felix. And maybe it was the shock of everything that happened yesterday that kept me from noticing or maybe I’m becoming more attracted the longer I spend with him.
Except the attraction is tied up with gratitude.
And I have no way of knowing if my appreciation for all he’s done for me since I arrived yesterday is the reason I’m attracted to him. Or if what I’m feeling is genuine attraction.
Either way, I can’t—shouldn’t—do anything about it.
He’s been nice letting me stay, and he offered to help me find a job and possibly somewhere to live. I need to ignore my feelings and think of him as a kind friend.
Except I’m pretty sure you shouldn’t want to kiss your friends.
FELIX
The storm blew in hard just after lunch. Since then we’ve been trapped inside, and with the way the wind is howling, I doubt either of us could remain upright if we ventured out.
Not that we want to.
Riley curled up in Mom’s favorite spot hours ago and stayed there. She’s been alternating between knitting what I think is a hat, and reading a book. Both items look a little worse for wear.
The yarn is crinkled like it’s been knitted together and pulled apart a few times. And the book’s pages have fanned out making them thicker than the spine, and the edges are torn or dogeared, the cover faded and full of scratches.
I want to ask where she got them from except I doubt I’ll like her answer.
Most of what she has is used. Possibly secondhand. Her clothes, while clean, are old and ill-fitting. If what Uncle Granger said this morning is true, there are more reasons to dislike a dead woman. I don’t need any more to dislike Warren.
I’m in the kitchen, pulling together our dinner. I haven’t mentioned I’m doing it because I don’t want Riley to help. I don’tknow if she’s ever had a chance to just sit like she is right now and I’m afraid to ask because again, my anger will be directed at a dead woman.
“Why are you frowning? What did that tomato do to you?”
Looking up, I find Riley staring at me with a grin on her face. I can’t help smiling back. She looks different this afternoon. Brighter somehow. And I know she’s not wearing any makeup—today or yesterday—to change her appearance.
“Felix?”
“Sorry. I was just worrying about the storm,” I lie. “It’s coming down pretty fast and hard out there. Even if it stops before morning, we’ll have a couple of feet to dig tomorrow.”
Putting her book down on the small side table, she stretches her arms over her head, arching her back as she stands. I try not to notice the curves of her chest, the slenderness of her arms or legs, but it’s a losing battle.
“I’ll help dig. I might not look like it, but I’m strong.” She flexes her arms.
Chuckling, I say, “I’m sure you are.”
“No. Really. Look at these guns.” She does an arm flex again, this time in a body builder’s pose, and I shake my head as I laugh.
“I see them.” I don’t say what else I see. Like the swell of her breasts or the dip of her waist that I’m sure I can span with my bare hands.
“You’ll let me help shovel, right?”
My gaze locks with hers and I try to decipher what she’s thinking. “If you want. But you don’t have to.”
“I know I don’t. That’s why I will.”
The firmness of her tone, the conviction in her eyes, makes my chest tight. She hasn’t been given many choices in her life. Hell, I doubt she’s been given any. That won’t happen here. From now on, she can make all her own choices.
“Can I help?”
My gaze snaps up. When did she move across the room. “No. I’ve got it.”
