Page 21 of Saving Sophia

His lips turned up in that grin that turned my tummy to melted butter. “My next project is a mountain resort, a few hours outside of Seattle.”

“Wow.” I let the blanket slip down further and shifted on the barstool. “That’s a big job.”

“Mostly it’s a lot of meetings and paperwork. But Woodland Ridge is special. We used to go there as kids. My Aunt Carol and Uncle Joe … well, technically they’re our foster parents, but we call them?—”

“You and Detective Valero?”

His smile widened. “Yep. Hayden and I are half-brothers, and Aunt Carol and Uncle Joe kept us together. But there were four of us altogether, plus their own son.”

He rubbed a hand against the neat scruff of his goatee. “We went to Woodland Ridge every year. There were cabins and rivers and hiking trails. Snow and skiing in the winter. There’s a little town nearby, with a café, coincidentally called ‘Carol’s’. Uncle Joe always joked that he would buy it for her someday, and they could move up there, and she could run it.”

“They did it?” I asked, picturing it all in my head. “And you’re helping them renovate?”

A fleeting moment of melancholy darkened his eyes before it flickered away. “My uncle passed about a year ago.”

My heart fell. “I’m so sorry,” I said, daring to rest my hand on his for a moment before I second-guessed myself and pulled it back.

His fingers flexed, stretching toward my withdrawn hand before tapping the handle of his mug. “She’s been a little lost without him. We’ve all moved out. She needs something to focus on.”

“Aunt Carol’s Café.” I ventured a smile at him. He returned it, taking my breath. He had a gorgeous smile—easy, kind, understanding. I could have sat there forever, grinning at him and admiring that smile.

Until I remembered that my life was not about cafés and cabins in the woods. I grabbed our empty mugs and took them to the sink, needing to break the spell he kept casting that made me forget my problems. “She must be so excited,” I mumbled.

“She will be,” he said as he checked his phone screen then tucked it back into his pocket. “My first order of business when I get there is to hire her an assistant.” His mouth twitched up in that amused way I was starting to love as much as his laugh. “You know, Washington is a great place for finding a job and starting a new life.”

I straightened my back and turned from the sink to look at him, biting my lip in confusion. Was he saying what I thought he was saying? “I don’t … are you … but you aren’t …”

He stood up and pushed the barstool in. “You’re looking for a fresh start? You could come out and see the place and meet Aunt Carol,” he offered. “If you don’t like it, you can come back to L.A. No hard feelings.”

My head shook back and forth, almost involuntarily. Coming back to L.A. was not an option. I needed to go somewhere. Washington was somewhere. Maybe even far enough away for Mr. Roscoe to forget about me. And honestly, part of me wanted to keep being near this man who made me feel so safe, even though we met less than twenty-four hours ago.

This was a crazy idea, but so was moving to Toronto, Toledo, or Tallahassee. Why would he offer me a job though? A job I wasn’t remotely qualified for?

“I’m not … I mean, I’m just a waitress.”

His amusement faded as he walked over to stand beside me at the sink, his thick eyebrows pulling together in a stern scowl that set butterflies off in my tummy. “You are much more than just a waitress. If you were mi—” He cut himself off and shook his head, easing his frown away. “If I had my way, you wouldn’t be allowed to talk about yourself like that.”

I blinked, the butterflies intensifying, his nearness threatening to overwhelm me. If he had his way? My cheeks burned. I dropped my eyes to the gray tile floor and stammered out a whispered protest. “I just …”

“Look at me.” His words were a quiet command. I tipped my head slowly up until there was nothing I could do but stare into his eyes. My hands fluttered uselessly by my sides. He caught them in his own and held them still. “I can see the weight of something big on your shoulders.”

Heat rose up through my body, and I willed myself not to burst into flames under his gaze. I shook my head and tried to push away the truth he was inching toward. Before he could open me up, before he could draw out my confession, my phone pinged from the coffee table.

New text message.

I flinched and pulled my hands away. He let me go.

Callie

Where are you? Brad says Mr. Roscoe’s looking for you.

A cold dart of fear ripped through me. This wasn’t over. I had to go somewhere Mr. Roscoe couldn’t find me.

Ethan moved across the suite to a big oak desk. He was tidying papers, tapping them together with long fingers before packing them into a briefcase. He was leaving L.A. in a few hours, and I could go with him. I could escape the murderer who was looking for me and stay in the presence of the only man who’d ever made me feel safe, not stupid.

Or I could take my three hundred forty-eight dollars and try my luck.

Alone.

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