“You’ve earned your keep. Consider it hazard pay for the ant bites.” Reluctantly, he added, “And I’ll be back in a while to bring you home.”
But when Colby checked on him later to make sure the reaction hadn’t gotten worse, Keats was sprawled across the bed in the guest room, sound asleep. The bites didn’t look too bad, so Colby closed the curtains, threw a blanket over him, and let him sleep.
He lingered in the doorway for a moment more than necessary. Only a few more hours and Keats would be gone.
Colby didn’t know whether to be relieved or damn disappointed.
Fuck.
NINE
It’s only a few steps. That was what Georgia repeated in her mind as she crossed the invisible barrier from her yard into Colby’s, but nerves crackled through her like static anyway. After the incident from earlier, they had never really gone away. Beyond the residual effects of the panic attack, she’d been unable to stop wondering whether Colby had seen the binoculars in the guest room. He hadn’t said anything or acted any differently than normal, but he was a counselor. Part of that job was keeping a poker face when you heard or saw outrageous things. That he might’ve discovered her secret had freaked her out to the point of nausea. So she’d given in and taken an anxiety pill, which combined with the drained adrenaline from the panic attack had promptly put her to sleep. When she’d woken up, her yard had been perfectly restored and Colby and Keats were gone.
She’d put in an emergency call to Leesha to offload everything that had happened that day. It was the benefit of having a best friend who was also a therapist. She could tell her things she’d be way too embarrassed to tell a stranger. But even so, it’d been a hell of a hard thing to admit aloud that she’d been spying on her neighbor. Leesha had hardly flinched and had assured her that, considering her isolated situation, it wasn’t completely bizarre that she had resorted to that kind of behavior. Plus, she’d added that considering Phillip had watched Georgia without her permission, this was a subconscious way for her to feel in control—by being the one doing the watching. Whatever. Georgia had rolled her eyes and demanded that Leesha drop the therapist hat and be the girl she’d known since grade school. This wasn’t a session.
At that, Leesha had broken into a conspiratorial grin, called her a dirty bird, and asked for a full description of how hot her neighbor actually was. Georgia had growled into the webcam. “Leesh, pay attention. He. May. Know. Did you hear that part? What the hell am I supposed to do? He probably thinks I’m some pervy stalker girl.”
She’d shrugged. “Feel him out. Maybe he didn’t see anything. And if you find out he knows, do the right thing and apologize.”
So now it was time to do the right thing. And that thing involved moving out of her barricaded comfort zone and womaning up. She was trying to channel some alternative version of herself with each step. I am strong. I am in control. I own this moment. Goddamn, she sounded like that guy Stuart Smalley from the old episodes of Saturday Night Live. Pitiful. She clutched the casserole dish in her hands like it’d save her from some impending doom and kept putting one foot in front of the other. Only a few more steps.
The porch light was on and Colby’s truck was still in the driveway, so she knew he was home. She had no idea if Keats was still there. Maybe Colby had taken him back home. She hoped not. She had a feeling Keats wasn’t going back to a happy situation, and he’d been so kind helping her earlier today. She didn’t want to think about him struggling to keep afloat. Plus, she’d never had a chance to ask him that question she’d started when the ants had attacked. Maybe she could help.
Her heart began to pound harder as she walked up Colby’s sidewalk, but she managed to keep her breathing even. She pictured an aerial view of her house in her mind—one of Leesha’s visualization exercises—and imagined her house was a green zone, the safe zone, that stretched to the edges of her property. With some effort, she pictured that circle expanding, the green creeping wider and enveloping Colby’s yard and house. This was just an extension of her space, nothing to get freaked-out about. She prayed that the image would convince her faulty wiring that all was good in the ’hood.
When she reached the door without drama, she wanted to do a victory dance. But the harder part was yet to come. She balanced the dish in one hand and raised the other to knock. Here we go. Be cool.
Colby answered a few seconds later, barefoot in track pants and a snug white T-shirt, obviously fresh from the shower. He didn’t bother hiding the surprise on his face. “Oh, hey. Everything all right?”
She stared at him for a few seconds, nerves stealing her voice, but she made herself swallow and speak. Unfortunately, everything came out at once. “Yes, everything’s fine. I fell asleep and when I woke up, I saw the yard, and it’s . . . beautiful. And I wanted to tell you that I really appreciate everything. Not just the yard but earlier. And I thought you might be hungry since you probably worked through lunch and so I made enchiladas. They’re chicken, and you like burgers, so I’m assuming you’re not vegetarian and—”
The slow, broad smile that crept onto his face stopped her mid-ramble. He leaned against his door frame, arms crossed over his chest. “You’re on my porch, Ms. Delaune.”
She pressed her lips together and inhaled a breath, trying to slow her heartbeat. “I needed to talk to you, and I wanted to thank you.”
“I can’t think of a better thank-you.” He reached out and pushed his door open wider. “Want to come inside to do the talking?”
Her gaze darted past his shoulder, taking in the spacious living room behind him, all done in soft browns and tans. The TV played ESPN but the volume was all the way down and a half-full beer sat on the coffee table. It looked comfortable and welcoming. So much of her wanted to go inside. But she hadn’t been inside another person’s house in over a year, and it felt a little like standing on the edge of a cliff with shifting soil. “I’m not sure.”
He reached out and took the casserole dish from her and set it on a table by the door. Then he held out both his palms to her. “Here, let’s try this. I won’t ask questions because it gives your mind too much time to analyze. Just listen and follow my instructions. If any of it becomes too much, you say stop and I’ll shut up. Deal?”
She nodded, not giving herself time to think about it. “Okay.”
“Now take my hands and step inside. It’s getting cold outside and it’s warm in here. I don’t want you to be cold.”
She placed her hands in his large ones, and he tugged her gently, easing her forward like a parent teaching a toddler to walk.
“Plus, I have no idea what temperature to cook this in the oven, so I need your help,” he continued.
Another step.
“And God knows we don’t want Mrs. Benson across the street gossiping about us, so we need to get where she can’t see us.” His dimple appeared.
Another step. She was inside. He bumped the door with his foot to shut it behind her. The click of it closing sounded as loud as a thunderclap in her head. Her fingers curled into his palms. “Keep talking.”
“And for the record, I’m about as far from a vegetarian as one can get. I put meat on top of my meat.”
She snorted.