The Love Shack

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Okay. “What made you feel unsafe?”

“I thought I heard someone trying to get in.” Her head inched up and she peeked at him over her knees, her pupils nearly overtaking the gold band surrounding them. “Did you see anyone?”

He shook his head slowly, as if she were a wild animal that might flee if he moved too fast. “No. But let me go look again.” He made to stand and her hand shot out, gave his knee a brief grip, then retracted as if she’d been burned.

“Don’t leave. Don’t leave me.”

“All right.” He blew out a silent breath of air and tried to determine what the hell he should do next. Clearly she was frightened, traumatized maybe, and he didn’t want to make a misstep. Maybe her friend Polly? But Skye had called him.

Gage kept his voice gentle. “Would you like some tea? I can take you back to your house—”

“No.” New tension stiffened her body. Then he saw her shoulders slump. “Maybe. In a minute.”

They kept to the corner, she with her spine to the wall, he sheltering her with his bigger body. He could smell her flowers-and-water fragrance and he breathed in the scent, using the long inhale to steady his ragged pulse. She was physically fine, there was no immediate threat, but he still felt on high alert, nerves jangling. It took all his newfound patience not to leap up and pace about the room.

But he’d learned that sometimes the only power he had was that of waiting it out.

Long moments later, her chin lifted. She didn’t meet his gaze. “There was no one around? You’re sure?”

“I didn’t see anyone. I’ll check further when you’re ready for me to do that.”

“I heard scratching. Maybe at the lock or at the door?” The hand she used to push her hair back from her pale face still trembled.

“When you’re ready,” he reiterated, “I’ll look.” Though he wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms, he held his position. “Should I call the police?”

“No.” Her hair swirled around her shoulders in adamant refusal. “It’s okay. I...I guess I’ll just have to go home.” Placing her palms on the plaster behind her, she drew to a stand.

Gage came to his feet, as well. “Whatever you say.”

But it was what she didn’t say that became the sticking point. At her nod, he did scrutinize the front door and the lock. Both the wood and the device were old, pitted and scarred by their exposure to the wind and salty air. The rustic look suited the cove, but effectively hid any sign of recent tampering. Then he followed her to her house, another three-quarters of a mile south. She was maddeningly silent during the walk.

And still wordless as she unlocked the door and made to slip inside.

“Skye?” he said, astounded. That was it?

Pausing, she gave him a wan smile. “Sorry for your trouble. Thank you.”

Thank you? His temper sparked. She’d scared the shit out of him—she was still scaring the shit out of him—and she expected he’d walk away without a full explanation?

“What kind of fucking friend do you think I am?” he demanded.

She flinched.

Keep your cool. Keep your head. Shoving his fists inside his pockets, he took a deliberate inhale through his nose. Then he tried again, using a gentler tone. “What kind of friend are you, who doesn’t offer a pal a beverage?” Without giving her time to demur, again he pushed his way past her and shut the door, closing them both inside.