Page 45 of A Not So Merry Rescue
“Then I’m coming in. You might want to move away from the door.”
How he knows this is beyond me. I didn’t lock the door, so when he opens it, it pushes my back, my size no match for his strength.
His chuckle enters before him. “I see this time you ignored my suggestion.”
Still on my butt, I scoot away from the door, swiveling around as he steps inside, shutting the door behind him. It’s odd since we’re alone in the house. The urge to get up and run floats through me, but I tamp it down, curious about what he’s going to say.
“So that’s your sister and your niece.” I get the elephant out of the way. One of them, at least.
“Yep. Told you she was into books. Ironic, much?”
“Eerie,” I murmur. What are the odds? My publicist would argue high because a lot of kids read the Hidden Clues Club books. Even without two years without a release, the books sell well. I shouldn’t be so surprised to meet fans. Even when I’m incognito.
“Why didn’t she recognize you?” His question is earnest and valid.
With the way social media and technology rule our lives, it should be more difficult to keep my identity a secret. To be fair, I’ve been out of the limelight for the last two years.
“My author photos are old and need to be updated, but it hasn’t been a priority. My hair was a different color when I was younger, and I wear a pair of ‘Evelyn’ glasses in all the photos.”
“What about social media? Author signings? Book tours? Or do you not do those?”
“It’s, um, been a little while for either of those things. And Clem says when I’m Evelyn, even she doesn’t recognize me sometimes.” I lift a shoulder. Instead of continuing this discussion, I change subjects. “What did you tell them? To get them to leave?” I ask nervously, my fingers finding my earlobe. It’s a nervous habit, yet it’s self-soothing, too.
I doubt he’d tell them my distaste for decorations. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to share someone else’s secret.
He shrugs. “I played it off your eyes are sensitive to the lights, so while you’re here, we’re keeping them off. Not even Autumn questioned it.”
“Uh, thanks. I appreciate it. Can’t imagine what they’d say if they knew the truth.”
“First, they wouldn’t believe it. Second,” he pauses, taking a seat on the floor near me. For only having one bathroom in the place, it’s a decent size with plenty of room for us both to sit without being squished together. “Second, they’d interrogate you until the cows came home, wanting to know how it started and why. They’d be relentless, never taking ‘I don’t want to talk about it’ as an answer.” He glances at me, a burning desireencased in his features. He’s asking without asking, like the gentleman he is.
I take Beckett’s hand in mine, desperate to touch him,needing the odd sense of comfort he brings. Callouses dot his palm dwarfing mine, giving him character, telling his story. Even without words, he’s a storyteller.
“If I weren’t here, what would you be doing tonight?”
“Probably this.”
“Sitting on the floor of your bathroom, pondering life?”
“Yep. It’s my Saturday night routine,” he deadpans. The raspy tone has my eyes closing. I could listen to him speak, no matter what he’s saying, for hours and never get bored. He’d make a good audiobook narrator.
I shove my shoulder into his. “No, for real.”
“I might be at my parents’ house. I’ve got the next few days off to prepare for the town’s festivities, so if anyone else needed my help, I’d lend a hand. Otherwise, I’d be home, boring as fuck, watching TV or reading a book, soaking up the last quiet night before chaos reigns. Probably have a fire going, with only the lights of the tree for lighting.”
Guilt worms in at how much I’m ruining for him. I hate myself a little more for not confronting my own fears and demons, for not dealing with the effects of two years ago.
My ears perk up at the “festivities” and “chaos.” As if my body knows something I don’t, my breathing hitches.
“What kind of chaos?”
Beckett rubs his fingers along his chin, his five o’clock shadow more pronounced today than the past two days. Maybe he didn’t shave this morning.
“It’s probably better you don’t know and plan to stay in the cabin after tomorrow. I’ll be out of your hair. You can get some writing done.”
I kinda love how he’s so concerned with my work and making sure I get it done. I almost hate being so untruthful to him.
Our hands are still entwined, and he traces lines and patterns along my palm with his finger. I don’t want him to let go.
