Page 15 of Concealed

When Wyatt returns to the kitchen, he stands a lot closer to me this time. His rich scent overpowers my senses and makes my knees a little wobbly. It’s as though he’s testing where the invisible line is before I freak out, but I don’t know where it is either.

God, he stirs up confusing emotions.

“Now the question is, will you eat dinner with me?” His eyes are sparkling, and his grin is so genuine that I immediately want to say yes.

But it’s a bad idea.

I swallow over the lump in my throat. “I should go back–”

“You don’t need to hide up there,” he interrupts softly.

He tentatively reaches forward and uses his thumb to tilt my chin up, forcing me to look at him. The simple gesture sends shockwaves of electricity coursing through me, and I have to bite my lip to keep from gasping.

But the biggest takeaway is that I didn’t even think about stepping back.

Whoa.

“Look, I know what happened to you, Rebecca,” he says. “Or, at least a version of it. I’d love to know your personal story if and when you’re ready to tell me. But we can also just pretend it didn’t happen and hang out for a while. Get to know each other a bit, you know? We won’t talk about anything that makes you uncomfortable. You’re the boss. I’ll just be there to eat, listen, and answer your questions. What do you say?”

Well, when he puts it like that…

I glance longingly out the window and imagine the ocean breeze in my hair, the scent of salt in my nostrils, and the warm patio stones under my bare feet. I was so scared earlier today that I couldn’t even enjoy my short trek outside.

Even if Matt shows up, something tells me that Wyatt will keep me safe.

“Okay,” I whisper. “Let’s have dinner together.”

Wyatt heads upstairs to change while I plate our food with shaking hands. This part of the evening could end very badly with Matt if I didn’t do it exactly right. But Wyatt isn’t Matt, and he isn’t going to hurt me for overcooking the pasta or using the wrong kind of sauce.

I never thought Matt would hurt me either.

Oh, God.

Now that I’m alone again and away from Wyatt’s warm, steady, and solid presence, I can’t decide if it would be safer to sit inside. Outside has more escape routes and more witnesses, but inside has more things that I can throw if need be.

Gabe wouldn’t send me to stay with someone who would hurt me.

But how many of Matt’s friends would believe that he’s a monster?

How well do we really know anyone?

Screw dinner.

I’m going upstairs to hide.

Forever.

My heart threatens to pound out of my chest when Wyatt reappears in well-worn, faded jeans that fit him like a glove and a tight white T-shirt.

His easy grin is in place, and he pretends it isn’t weird to find me standing in the middle of the kitchen holding two plates of food and frozen with indecision.

“Why don’t we eat on the patio,” he suggests. “It’s a beautiful evening. I’m going to grab a… Right. I didn’t buy anything yet. A glass of water. Want one?”

“I picked up a bottle of wine,” I return.

It’s been years since I was allowed to drink, and part of taking back my independence was buying alcohol just because I wanted to. The problem is, Jello shooters aren’t a thing anymore, so I had to google what would pair well with dinner.

“I got a pinot noir,” I add, trying to sound as if I know what I’m talking about and like an actual adult who got to have real-life experiences.

---