Page 17 of Sometimes You Stay

Not a single one had made his heart hammer against his ribs.

Until he’d picked up Cretia. And set her down. And stopped her from leaving.

Scowling, he tried to force himself to think about anything else. To not see her face every time he blinked.

This was ridiculous. He barely knew her. And what he knew made no sense. How could someone make a living by traveling around the world?

It couldn’t be safe. It probably wasn’t smart.

And when she gave up on her ludicrous lifestyle, she’d head back to her home. He wasn’t an expert at US geography, but he thought Arizona was about as far from the island as you could get and still be in the States.

In the meantime, she’d gallivant around the globe—assuming her passport hadn’t been ruined—and probably be even farther away.

But when he’d set her on the floor at the inn, he’d felt her absence deep in his gut. Somewhere not far from his heart. There had been a hollowness, like he was missing something.

How could he miss someone he’d known for exactly fifteen minutes? Besides, they’d barely said two words to each other. And, of course, the minute he had spoken, he’d shoved his foot in his mouth.

He’d never felt this way before, and he didn’t quite knowwhat to do. Except ignore the feeling. That was probably his best option. But he had to help her replace her electronics. He could disregard whatever his gut said for as long as it took to get Cretia back on the road. Then it would just be him and the Fab Four again. And a few dozen other animals.

He’d probably barely see her anyway. He had work to do.

“Come on, boys.” He held the gate open, and the puppies tromped onto the open barn floor. “Let’s go outside and play.”

Five

After a night in the coziest bed she’d ever slept in, Cretia woke to find her clothes folded in a stack on the desk in her guest room. Marie had asked if she could sneak in that morning and drop them off. She’d also left a fresh towel that smelled of sunshine and wildflowers.

The whole day before had turned into a bit of a blur in her memory. After the excitement of the morning and the following adrenaline crash, she’d napped for most of the afternoon. But she still hadn’t woken feeling rested.

Marie had invited her to join the Sloan family for dinner, but Cretia had skipped the meal in favor of inspecting her electronics.

Just as she’d expected. They were hopeless. All of them.

Surrounded by disappointment, she had crawled back into the comfy bed while the sun was still up.

With the warm sunrise, the day felt a little more manageable. Cretia skipped the shower but washed her face with the inn’s complimentary cleanser before donning her clothes, savoring the familiar jeans that hugged her waist but left plenty of room for her hips and thighs. Running her fingersthrough her dark waves, she tried to make sense of her hair but knew it was mostly a lost cause. All of her travel-size hair potions were somewhere in the harbor.

And her electronics might as well be.

She pinched the bridge of her nose as more memories from the day before rushed back to her. Finn and his beast. Losing everything. Her twisted ankle.

She stepped forward gingerly, which elicited a small twinge across the top of her foot. Nothing more.

At least she wasn’t seriously injured. And a quick inspection showed barely a bruise and no visible swelling. Nothing to keep her from getting back on the road.

Except her electronics.

Taking a deep breath, she eased open her door and stepped into the hallway. The inn was mostly silent, save for the friendly scratch of a tree branch against the window at the front of the house. Its bright green leaves were a beacon, an invitation to settle beneath its shade.

She didn’t have time for that.

Tiptoeing past a row of closed wooden doors on each side of the hall, she remembered that Marie had said the inn had no other guests at the moment. Which explained why she’d had her first uninterrupted night of sleep in years. No slamming hotel doors or the thunder of little feet running up and down the hall. No cars driving along busy streets outside her window.

Surely, being the only guest in the house contributed to her brain shutting off as soon as her head hit the pillow. Well, that and the mattress that welcomed her like a long-lost friend. And the lavender-scented sheets. And the utterly exhausting day.

The old Victorian house felt homier than any other placeshe’d stayed in her travels. Or before, for that matter. It was lived in and loved on, child-size jackets hanging from pegs on the mudroom wall above the bucket of rice, nonsensical pictures covering the front of the stainless-steel refrigerator in the kitchen.

The inn was far from empty. It was just ... peaceful.

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