Page 34 of One Night Years Ago

“You’re going to sleep here? In your truck? Until he’s caught?”

“It’s comfortable,” he said, his voice low.

Something stung behind her eyes. If her father or any other man had said the same thing to her she would have exploded in fury, but coming from Hunter it seemed different somehow. He didn’t seem to be implying that she needed his help. He just wanted to give it.

“You think you owe me?”

“I know I owe you,” he said simply.

You’re missing the point.

“I don’t trust you.”

“I understand,” he said sadly.

“Don’t take it personally. I don’t really trust anyone.”

He nodded and started rolling up the window. It was a manual lever, the kind she hadn’t seen in a long time. She put her hand on the glass to stop him.

“Come inside.”

He started at that. “What?”

“I said come inside. You’ll be more comfortable on the couch.”

Without looking at him again, she led the way back to the house. She didn’t want to look him in the eye and let him know just how nervous she was, so she was almost at the kitchen door by the time she looked back at him. He was still where she’d left him, right outside her door, which was wide open.

“You’re not a vampire, right?” she said, looking over her shoulder.

“Sorry,” he said, walking in. A small smile played on his lips.

And there it is. He does have dimples.

He walked into her living room but still stood a distance away. She moved, and he moved with her but in the opposite direction. As if he always needed ten feet between him and anybody else.

“Do you do this with everyone? Keep this distance?”

“I don’t want to scare you,” he said, his voice a low growl. “I can’t bear to see you scared.”

“You don’t scare me,” she said automatically then realized it was true. He didn’t feel like a threat. In fact, she felt safer right now with him in the house than she’d felt in a long time.

“Have you had dinner?”

“You don’t have to cook for me,” he said. “I don’t need any food.”

She looked doubtfully at his large frame. “I wasn’t planning on cooking. I do have milk and cereal or some leftover pizza from last night.”

He considered that for a moment. “Pizza would be nice. I like pizza.”

“Do you want it warm?”

He shook his head. “Cold is fine. Thanks.” He sat down at her kitchen table.

“I can’t offer you anything else to drink,” she said, bringing him a glass of water.

He looked up at her, the slice of pepperoni pizza frozen in midair.

“I don’t drink alcohol,” he said. She waited for him to continue, but he didn’t say anything else.