Page 39 of Traces Of You
“You’ve never been obvious,” she said. “And you don’t have to use the excuse of running errands for me. I appreciate you went to the store and got me stuff, but I’d like to do it myself. Did you have enough money?”
“Yeah.” He pulled the change out and set it on the counter. He’d wanted to pay for it, but she all but ripped his head off when he offered. It made him grin thinking she was shy and withdrawn because it was almost as if she’d reverted to her personality before she’d left the area. She held up the package of ground beef in one hand and chicken in the other hand. “Burgers are fine.”
She put the chicken in the fridge, left the beef out and everything she needed for dinner.
He found the pan for her and pulled that out. The place was neat and organized. Not that there was much here.
“You didn’t tell me how long I’ve got to stay here. I won’t be working seven days a week. Your mother won’t let me and I’ll get bored sitting around. I thought I’d ask Clay if I could help with anything.”
She turned and faced him. It was then he noticed the sweatshirt she was wearing. One of his that he’d left here after college.
The sleeves were pushed up past her elbows but barely staying, the hem covering her hips, almost hitting her mid-thigh.
“Cute sweatshirt. Looks good on you.”
Her head dipped. “Clay dropped off a box of old shirts of yours for me to wear since I don’t have a lot of warmer clothes. Hopefully, I won’t need them much longer.”
He hoped she’d wear them all the time. And when she did, that she would think of him.
How they were almost a unit for that year she’d lived here.
In his mind, they were inseparable. They’d sit together and stare at the outdoors, no words spoken, their hearts quietly beating in sync.
He was so far gone on her. At twelve, he didn’t understand the pain it would cause when she left.
Something he struggled to get past for years.
That was a lie. He never got past it. Never forgot.
He wondered if that was why he’d recognized her so easily. She was this burn that scarred his soul. Nothing and no one had repaired it.
Only she could do it.
She was here. He wasn’t only going to protect her, as was his job, but he was going to convince her to stay at the same time.
Keeping her a prisoner wasn’t the way to do it.
She had to feel as if she belonged, and to do that, she had to spread her wings... but with rules.
“It won’t warm up enough for T-shirts all the time for another month, usually.”
“Unless I can’t figure out the temperature in here.”
She had a timid smile on her face. “It’s comfortable.”
He’d taken his jacket off. He was in jeans and a long-sleeved cotton shirt, having gone home to shower and change before he arrived.
“I’ll shut it down before bed again. It was almost too hot at one point last night and I was kicking the covers off.”
He tried not to think of what she slept in.
“I would have thought living in Florida that this would seem freezing to you.”
She shrugged and went back to making patties and then lighting the burner.
“Do you want some baked beans with it? It’s that or chips on this short of notice. I’ll make a pasta salad to snack on later.”
“That’s fine,” he said. He found a small pan, then the can opener in the drawer and got them started while she finished with the burgers.
