“Wow….” Nate chuckled. “That’s a hundred-and-eighty-degree turn in thinking.” He reached for the door handle and Declan stopped him.
“You should head home. I have something I need to do.”
Nate winced. “Come on, man. I can’t have you wandering around downtown looking for her. What if a stranger offers you candy? It’s not safe.”
“I’m not going downtown. Just head home. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Declan stepped out of the Jeep, and Nate shrugged.
“I’ll never understand you, Dec.”
He smiled. “Be safe. And go put ice on that hand.”
Nate scoffed and revved the engine in response. Declan lifted his hand in a wave and walked up to the house, pulling out his cell when it buzzed.
MOTION DETECTED! Press here to see the live video!
He glanced up at the cameras, remembering the anxiety he’d felt when he’d mounted them. The annoyance and stress that he’d had, all over some missing newspapers and empty bottles. Why had he cared so much?
He should have just approached her the first time he noticed her following him. Introduced himself and realized, at that point, what a harmless and adorable woman she was. He could have saved them both a lot of headache and stresses over the last six months.
Stepping inside, he flipped the switch and looked at his house with new eyes. The couch, a carryover from college, sagged in the middle, the worn leather perfect for weekend football and early nights, but ugly as hell. The walls were bare, Nicola taking the artwork with her when she’d left. The walls were taupe, a result of one long weekend with Nate and Bridget, covering up the pale blue color Nicola had obsessed over. At least the place was clean. He had been well trained by his father, who believed military precision should carry through every aspect of life, the easiest aspect done with a broom and dustpan. Had Autumn come home with him, she would have found fresh sheets on the bed, the edges tucked at diagonal angles, the toilet clean, shower scrubbed down this morning right before he stepped out of it.
It only took a second to find the postcard, still waiting in the middle of his kitchen counter. Autumn Jones. 444 Frolicking Lane.
He grabbed his keys and headed for the garage.
Her house was straight out of a Southern Living magazine. A white picket fence. Craftsman-style home with a wide front porch, the square columns wrapped in jasmine, a swing on one end. A gable roof with dark blue staggered shake siding. Her porch lights were off, and he climbed the front steps quietly, her heels in hand. He put his ear to the door and listened for any sounds from inside. Nothing.
He hesitated, warring between leaving the heels on the front mat or ringing the bell. It was past midnight. Too late to be waking anyone up, if she had a roommate. He placed the shoes on the front mat and stepped back, examining them. Moving to the truck, he opened the glove box and looked for a piece of paper, settling on the back of a receipt. Uncapping a pen, he attempted a note.
Thought you might want these back— Declan
He crumpled it up and flipped through more glove box junk, finding an expired printout of his insurance. The page was bigger, giving him more room. He started over.
I’m worried about you. Call me when you get home.
That was great. Just the sort of thing a mother would write. He grimaced at the poor choice of comparison, then scratched through the line. Tossing the paper and pen on the bench seat of his truck, he quietly shut the door and wandered back to the porch. Leaning against one of the columns, he decided to wait.
Nate was probably right. She could take care of herself. Call a cab. Get home safely. But, just to be sure… he’d wait as long as it took.
She had been worried about him. He’d seen the depth of her concern in her eyes when she had examined him, her pinched features relaxing the more she had patted him over. How long had it been since someone had given him that feeling? That amount of care? He was lying to himself if he said it hadn’t felt good. Just being in her presence… that had given him a feeling he hadn’t had in a long time, if ever.
So, he’d return the favor. Worry about her and wait to make sure that she made it home safely. And it had absolutely nothing to do with wanting another kiss.
19
I knew better than to take off down a dark street while drunk. Public intoxication was one of the easiest ways to die, with potentially embarrassing repercussions. Take Elisa Lam, a delightful Canadian gal who got drunk and drowned in a large water tank on the roof of a Los Angeles hotel. Her dead body floated in that tank for over two weeks before it was found. Want to know how they finally found her? Guests were complaining about the taste of the water. Yeah. Think about that next time you rinse your mouth out at the Marriott.