Page 20 of Welker

“So, like I said, the whole deal is a work in progress, which means my house isn’t exactly finished. It’s rough inside, all except for the kitchen, whose renovations we completed first. Luckily, the two bedrooms have doors, and each has a private bath. But the best I can say about them is that they’re functional. I left the old, prefab shower stalls in place until I can replace them with fully-tiled enclosures, and the sinks and toilets are clean, but old and stained. I hope that won’t bother you.”

“Not at all,” she assured him.

Welker unlocked his back door, which led right into the kitchen, and gestured for her to go first.

He was glad they came in this way and not into the unfinished living room up front, because Moira’s face, upon seeing his kitchen, actually…lit up?

Welker almost stumbled as he crossed the threshold, catching a glimpse at her unaccustomed wonder.

She hissed in an appreciative breath.

“You, uh, like my kitchen?” he finally asked, remembering that she said she cooked.

“Yeah. I do.”

Damn. This woman was checking all his boxes.

A foody who knew vintage cars, was crazy accurate with a gun, and didn’t mind roughing it.

Welker had to admit that the inexplicable feelings he’d pondered earlier might be gaining traction and moving closer and closer to having a name. Welk’s heart beat harder.

Could this be…love?

CHAPTER SEVEN

Moira couldn’t help but be impressed as Welker showed her around. His kitchen was…spectacular, and she itched to open cabinets and get her fingers onto some pots and pans, but…

A huge yawn escaped her.

“Damn. You’re exhausted,” Welker stated. “I totally get it. I am, too. It’s been a long, freaking night,” he commiserated. “What do you say I give you the rest of the tour tomorrow, but right now, we get you to bed.”

If Moira weren’t so tired, she’d wonder about his wording, but all she could do was nod and yawn. Everything was finally crashing down on her, and she felt like she could sleep for three days.

“This way,” he said, leading her to a free-floating staircase that led to an upper, open balcony. Off that long expanse, were three doors she could see from down below. “My room is on the far end,” Welk pointed left as he headed up the stairs. “The middle door is kind of a catch-all office, and the door to the right is the guest room where you’ll be staying. Like I said, both bedrooms have attached baths, so we don’t have to share,” he informed her, “but I wasn’t expecting company, so I’m sorry, the bed isn’t made up.”

“Not a problem. All I need is a sleeping bag,” she demurred drowsily. At this point, if the accommodations were a bed of nails, she’d be a-okay.

Welker chuckled, and Moira liked the sound. Her brain was half asleep, and that had to be the only reason—she told herself—that it was charming, rather than annoying this time.

“I think we can do better than a camp-out.”

It was a good thing Welker didn’t know where her brain had gone as he continued.

“I learned how to make up a bunk while I was in the military, so it won’t take me but a couple minutes to tuck things in.”

Moira followed him onto the landing, and into the room he’d designated. The place was…incomplete, as he’d said. The walls were framed out, with rough electrical installed, but insulation hadn’t gone in yet on the outer walls, so there was no sheetrock hung; only untaped sheets between rooms. There was, however, a roof over their heads and a nice, king-sized bed smack dab in the middle of the space, so Moira wasn’t complaining.

“Linens are in here,” Welk told her, going to a doorless closet. “That includes towels and facecloths for the bathroom.”

Mmm. A shower sounded nice, but Moira didn’t think she’d have the strength not to fall asleep in the stall. And the last thing she needed was Welker coming to her naked rescue. She’d wait until she got up.

Welker turned to her with an arm full of bedding.

“I’ll help,” Moira managed, and together, even with her half asleep, they handled the sheets like they’d been doing it their entire lives.

“There.” Welker stood back and admired their handiwork. “I, uh, guess I’ll leave you alone now.” His hands thrust deep into his pockets and he looked…nervous.

“I’ll be fine, Vestore,” Moira told him, purposely using his last name again as she tended to do when her imagination where he was concerned started getting away from her. “No nightmares. I promise.”

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