Page 59 of Booked for the Holidays
“Your private residence. Whatever you might keep in your secret hideaway. Maybe you’re Batman. I wouldn’t want to ruin the role of hardware store owner you play really well.”
I chuckle. “It wouldn’t be imposing. You’re freezing, Bridget. The rain isn’t stopping any time soon. And I’m not Batman, so no worries there. A Batmobile would be pretty cool, though.”
She gnaws on her lip, considering. I'd never force her down the sidewalk, even if the sight of her shivering makes the muscle in my jaw tick. I wouldn’t expect her to do something she’s not completely comfortable with, even if I want to peel her wet dress off with my teeth. Patiently, I wait while she decides. After a moment of thought, she dips her chin, wordlessly accepting my offer.
My hands drop from the wall and I step back, giving her space. “Do you need to grab Ziggy?”
“No. He’s at daycare today. It’s just me. I told Brooke to not bother coming in. Give me a second, I need to grab my phone and lock up.”
She heads inside and I decide to be a useful member of society. I move the ladder out of the way, collapsing it down and resting it against the entryway. I unplug the unfinished lights and wrap them into a tight coil. Bridget reemerges and locks the shop door, giving another nod indicating she’s ready to go.
We start the walk toward my house, a craftsman a few blocks up, off the main drag. I’m kicking myself for not bringing an umbrella. For not popping back into my office and digging out the raincoat I know is buried somewhere in there. It’s painful to watch her out of the corner of my eye and know I can’t do anything to help her yet.
It makes me mad all over again.
A car speeds down the road, a spray of water dousing the sidewalk. I slow my steps so I can with asides with Bridget, nudging her toward the buildings and away from the street.
“Do you live alone?” she asks, dodging a puddle.
“Yeah. Lucas and I used to live together. Then he got married, Mac was born, and I bought this place by myself.”
“Lucas wasmarried?”
I chuckle. “Yeah. He’s been divorced for three years.”
“Holy crap. Have you ever been married?
“God, no. I told you I was planning on buying Mac’s mom a ring and, well, thank fuck I didn’t. Put the savings toward a house instead. What about you?”
“No.” She shakes her head, flecks of water from the strands of her hair landing on my cheek. “One day, maybe. My sister got married earlier this year and shit, what a spectacle.”
“Does it make me a bad person if I use my kid to get out of social obligations I don’t want to go to? ‘Sorry, I can’t make your wedding even though we haven’t talked since college. My kid has a dance recital.’”
Bridget laughs, and we turn onto my street. “Honestly, it kind of makes you a genius. Do you walk to work every day?”
“I try to. Healthy living and all that. We’ll drive back later, though. No more walking in the rain. What about you?”
“Yeah. It’s a twenty minute walk. When it’s excruciatingly warm outside I’ll drive. But I definitely prefer walking. I like the fresh air.”
“Same. It’s a nice break from being in the store all day.”
I gesture to my house and we climb the stairs to the porch. My hands fumble with the keys, cold and stressed. When I finally push the door open, Bridget files in behind me. She stands in the foyer, staring at me, waiting for instructions. Water runs down her legs and pools at her feet, covering the rustic hardwood.
“Clothes off. Now.”
My voice is strained and I spin, focusing my attention on the couch. On the wall. On the television mounted to the wall. Anything except the woman getting naked behind me. I hear an article of clothing hit the floor, followed by a smaller sound.
“Okay,” she whispers.
I clear my throat. “Bathroom is down the hall on the left.”
Light footsteps pad away, and when I hear the shower turn on, I finally relax.
She’s safe.
I grab her discarded clothes, heading for the laundry room. My pulse quickens when I close my eyes and imagine her up on that ladder. The fear in her voice, trembling and nervous. The terror in her eyes, wide and scared. If it had been anyone—anyone—else outside, I wouldn’t have confronted them. I wouldn’t have gripped their hips like my life depended on it. I wouldn’t have brought them here to use my hot water or dry their clothes.
Yet here are.
