Page 21 of Chasing Shelter

Something shifted in my chest, and the feeling wasn’t entirely pleasant. It was like some sort of foreign entity invading. The sweetness of Walter’s words wasn’t something I’d ever experienced before. Even the longing in his tone was beautiful. But something about it made me uncomfortable, and I didn’t want to look too closely at it.

I shoved the stew of feelings down and forced a smile. “Never seen a man more determined. You’ll win her over.”

Walter shot me a grin. “Danged straight.”

I moved to grab the first duo of plates. They smelled delicious, and I suddenly regretted my breakfast of cold cereal. This would’ve been way better.

I carefully balanced the egg sandwich and cereal-crusted French toast and headed into the din. Conversations bled together as I wovethrough the tables, looking for number thirteen. I finally spotted it and made a cautious beeline.

I grinned as I approached the two familiar faces. “Playing hooky from the jobsite?” I asked as Shep looked up.

He chuckled. “We have a meeting with a prospective client in an hour. Thought we’d eat while we go over the pitch. Who roped you into this circus?”

“Your girlfriend,” I said with a grin. My gaze moved to Shep’s tablemate and second-in-command at his construction company. Anson wasn’t exactly the warm, fuzzy type. He was a man of few words, but they were always important ones when he spoke. I’d learned that the ex-FBI profiler had been through his share of trials, but everything changed when he was around his girlfriend, Rhodes. His entire demeanor softened.

“French toast?” I asked him, knowing Shep wasn’t a huge fan of sweets.

“Thanks,” Anson said, the one-word answer fairly typical for the man.

I slid the egg sandwich in front of Shep. “Can I ask what he does in these meetings when he’s so opposed to talking?”

Shep barked out a laugh. “You’ve got a point there.”

Anson just scowled at us. I only grinned wider. “You look like Trace with that grumpy face.”

Shep shook his head. “Speaking of Trace. You know it’s making the rounds that he came out of your rental house shirtless last night.”

Heat hit my cheeks, surely blazing bright.

“You know, if I was still in my past job, I’d analyze that blush,” Anson muttered.

It was my turn to scowl at him. “I never should’ve poked the profiler bear.”

Anson’s lips twitched. “Now you know.”

“I had a little, um, incident. My frozen pizza caught fire,” I explained.

Shep’s brows drew together. “And Trace’s shirt went up in flames?”

I rocked back and forth from my heels to my toes. “I, uh, had kinda just gotten out of the shower when it happened and wasn’t fully dressed, so…”

Anson burst out laughing, which surprised me so much that I gaped at the typically stoic man. Turning to Shep, I dropped my voice to a stage whisper. “Is he having a stroke?”

“There’s a good chance,” Shep agreed.

Anson wiped beneath his eyes. “Sorry, just picturing Trace coming face-to-face with a safety violation and you in all your post-shower glory. If anyone had a stroke, it’s him.”

That got Shep laughing. “Now that I know what really happened, I’m going to give him so much shit.”

“Good. He needs to lighten up a little.” And if that happened at my expense, I was good with it.

Shep shook his head. His mouth still formed a smile, but I didn’t miss the hint of sadness in his amber eyes. “I’m not sure lightening up is in Trace’s wheelhouse.”

“And why is that?” I found myself asking. It was none of my business and a question I shouldn’t be asking. And not just because I had no right to the answer. My no-man zone meant that the last thing I needed was to discover the root of Trace’s demons.

Shep shifted in his chair. “When you come from the kind of background Trace does, control becomes important. Safety, too.”

My stomach hollowed out. I didn’t know Trace’s history. Just that he’d come to live with the Colsons when he was twelve. But you weren’t placed in foster care for happy, fun reasons. It was because of loss or something worse.

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