“You’re safe now,” he says. “That waste of fucking space isn’t coming anywhere near you again.”
“I know. That’s why I came out here, to get away from him and everyone. He knows where my friends live, all the places I usually go. He has a habit of just showing up wherever I am, without warning. But right now, the only person who knows where I am is you."
His mouth tips into a small, lopsided smile. “Sorry I crashed your hiding spot.”
I shake my head. “No, I like that you’re here. It feels safer.”
He studies my mouth like he wants to kiss me, and I desperately wish that he would. I know it bothers him that he’s so much older than me, but I honestly don’t see the problem. I want him to want me, and I suspect that he does.
“Just so you know,” I say, “I wasn’t flirting with you because I needed a place to stay.”
His brow arches. “Oh yeah?”
“I was flirting because, even though you’re a grumpy bastard, I like you.” Even as he smirks, I can feel his gaze boring into me. He’s so controlled, but little by little, I can sense his resolve slipping. His hands curl into fists like he’s fighting to stop himself from using them. I want him to use them on me.
Eventually, his control wins out over his desire.
Folding his arms across his chest, he takes a step back and clears this throat.
“The bathroom sink’s leaking,” he says
, definitively changing the subject. “Where’d your dad keep his toolbox?”
“There’s a workshop out in the garage. If you need any help fixing up the place, I’ve been told I’m pretty good with a hammer.”
Silas heads for the door. Just when I think he’s chosen not to dignify my bad joke with a response, he fires back with, “When I find some wood that needs nailing, I’ll call you.”
Chapter Seven
Silas
“Go fish,” Norah says.
I draw a card from the pile on the wooden table between us. “That’s four queens.” I set aside the small stack of royals. “Your turn.”
Her eyes narrow as she studies the cards in her hand. I’ve come to learn that in addition to biting her lip, she sometimes closes her left eye when she’s trying to focus. Her dad used to do the same thing.
“Got any sixes?” she asks.
I sigh and toss her the three sixes I’ve been saving. She grins.
“Looks like I’m going to win.” She gathers the sixes and adds them to the pile of fours-of-a-kind stacked next to her.
“You sure you’re not cheating?”
“Asked the sore loser.” She shakes her head. “Pitiful. Got any Jacks?”
“Go fish.” I rearrange the cards in my hand, fighting back a smile. I’ve been doing that more often than usual lately. Smiling, laughing, cracking jokes. She brings it out of me. She’s pretty quick herself, always keeping me on my toes. It didn’t take long for me to realize that Norah Benson is a pistol without a safety.
It’s been four days since I offered her a ride. That’s four days living with a girl half my age. Eating together, doing chores together, watching the sunset, and roasting marshmallows by the fire. There are moments when I forget the reason she’s here, when the why and how of what she’s lost and what she’s running from falls away, and it’s just the two of us camping under the stars.
Then I recall the pain her eyes as she described the things her ex-boyfriend had done to her, and my blood starts to simmer. That fucker had better pray he never meets me, because if I ever get my hands on him, he’s dead. No questions. No mercy.
“Time to cough up those threes,” I say.
A cool breeze ruffles Norah’s hair. She pouts. “How’d you know?”
“I warned you when we started that you were playing with a Go Fish champion.” I take her threes and make a stack. “Your dad and I used to play, and nine times out of ten, I always beat him.”