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“Hi.” I smile when he turns to look at me.
“You the Realtor?”
“I am,” I say, and he grunts, flicking his still-lit cigarette over the side of the porch, then stomps inside. Well, okay then. I walk to where his cigarette landed in a pile of leaves and stomp out the still-burning butt, then go to my car and get in.
On my way back to town, I call Wyatt’s lender and explain things to him, and he tells me that he doesn’t think that we need to reschedule the appraisal for next week. That if the repairs are being made, it shouldn’t have an effect on the property value or the appraisal, which is a huge relief. Then I call Wyatt and fill him in on the entire situation and assure him that everything will be okay. Not that he seems even remotely worried. The truth is I haven’t found anything that stresses him out yet.
Hanging up with him when he gets a call over his radio from dispatch telling him that he is needed at the scene of a hit-and-run, I drive the rest of the way home trying to decipher how I feel about his job. I’ve known from the beginning that he is a sheriff’s deputy, but I guess I haven’t really put much thought into how his job might impact my life, and I don’t just mean the occasional late nights—I mean the dangers that go along with wearing a badge and carrying a gun. He doesn’t have some cushy office job, and at any given moment something could happen that might mean he doesn’t make it home. Could I handle that? Losing him to some tragedy? I don’t know why I’m thinking about it now, why it hasn’t crossed my mind before this moment.
As I’m pulling into my driveway, I honestly feel a little nauseated by the thoughts now running through my mind. Getting out of my car, I take my purse with me, then grab my overnight bag from the trunk and stop at the mailbox. As I walk up the driveway, I look at the woods between my house and the house next door, hoping that Romey or Ezra will appear. They don’t, but I really wish they would. Getting inside, I dial Anna’s number. I walk to my bedroom and find it just like I left it, including the pile of laundry I need to wash still on the floor next to the closet.
“Hey, you.”
“Hey, what are you up to?”
“Just home checking on things and doing some laundry. What are you doing?”
“Feeding the baby.” She laughs, and I smile, putting the call on speaker.
“What are you eating?”
“Leftovers from last night’s dinner.”
“You mean the most awkward dinner ever.”
“Yep, that one.” I hear the smile in her voice. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? Did something happen?”
“I think I’m just in my own head. I was on the phone with Wyatt, and he got a call to go to the scene of a hit-and-run, and it made me think about his job, which I can admit I haven’t really done until now.”
“What about his job?”
“That it’s dangerous.”
“So is existing in this world today. Even going to the grocery store can be dangerous.”
“True.” I walk back to my room and pick up my clothes from the floor and go to the laundry machines in the hall.
“How are things between you and Wyatt?” she asks softly.
“Good.”
“Just good?”
“Really good. I’ve never met a guy like him before. He makes me happy.”
“Then just focus on that for now and not what might or might not happen.”
“You’re right. I don’t even know why I started thinking about his job now.”
“Probably because subconsciously, you are realizing that you don’t want something to happen to him, because you have fallen for him and it would hurt you if he wasn’t around.”
“Maybe,” I mutter, and she laughs.
“It’s okay to admit that you care about him.”
