Page 37 of Somewhere You Belong

I stand from the bed and reach down, shuffling through his bag before locating the hammer and handing it to him. But when I look up, I see his eyes trained on my chest, the sliver of my boobs displayed through the opening of the neckline that fell when I bent over.

He clears his throat, realizing he’s been caught as I settle back down on the bed.

“Well, you must have made your family proud by serving your country. It’s a noble thing to do.”

He scoffs, shaking his head as he hammers a rod in place. “Not all parents support such a decision.”

“What do you—"

“So where areyoufrom, Willow?” he asks, changing the subject and cutting me off. The question lingers in my brain, but his next words are full of sarcasm and divert my attention. “I obviously know it’s not here. We’ve pinpointed that detail the first night we met.” His cocky grin is back along with my urge to twist his nipple.

“Virginia originally. Washington, D.C. for the last eight years.”

“And what do you do there?”

Ah, the burning question I find myself hating to answer the longer I’m here. “I work in advertising,” I reply, stretching the truth a bit.

“Impressive. Do you enjoy it?”

“I’m good at it.”

He glares up at me. “That’s not what I asked.”

“Yes. I enjoy it,” I reply, but something about my tone doesn’t settle well with either of us.

“I don’t believe you.”

“What do you want me to say? I make good money. I live a good life.” He shakes his head at me. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“What happened to you’ll always be honest with me?”

That draws his attention back to me, determination in his eyes and voice. “Fine. You want the truth?” I raise my brow at him. “You don’t sound happy. In fact, the first night I met you all I could see was a woman who was unhappy, unfulfilled, and lost.” My heart is pounding. “But what do I know?”

Standing from the bed, I walk toward the window, needing to look anywhere but at him.

How could he get all of that from that brief interaction? From a moment when two strangers simply exchanged a few words, and not nice ones at that?

For someone who prides myself on being closed off and holding my emotions close to the vest, this man sure dialed me in within moments of meeting me.

“You’re not entirely wrong, but I don’t want to talk about it. Okay?”

“Consider it dropped.” I hear him shifting against the ground, and when I turn around, I see the makings of the chair standing before me. “Just a few more pieces.”

“I’ll be downstairs.” I walk past him, needing space, needing to reset my frame of mind.

Having this man in my house is making me question too many things. And I know that’s what I came here to do—work through my shit, get some space from the life I’ve been living for the past twelve years. I just didn’t anticipate a complete stranger calling me out on it.

Ten minutes later, Dallas comes down the stairs with his tool bag in hand. “All done. I put it outside for you. It looks good out there.”

“Thank you.” I force down the lump in my throat and then we stand there, staring at each other.

“You know, Carrington Cove is a good place to get lost in, Willow.” His words are soft, but the meaning behind them is not. His brow pinches and then his hand moves toward me, inching closer to my face before he catches himself and retracts it. Breaking our stare, his eyes shift to the ground. “I guess I’ll see you around…”

Nerves race through me, but all I can manage to say is, “More like stalk me, right?” Thankfully, he lightly smiles at that.

“Sure, Willow. Whatever you say.” He pauses before he grabs the doorknob. “Just do me a favor?”

---