I didn’t have an answer for that one, but it didn’t feel like the entire truth, either. “There’s food in the fridge. I need a shower.”
He
tipped his head in much the same way he had as he’d studied my paintings. I wanted to shove him out the door and tell him to lose my name, but he’d saved me today. And he wasn’t in any shape to go back out into the streets right now.
He was holding it together, but he was definitely favoring his ribs and one leg. Tough guy. I hurried past him and closed the door quietly behind me. I paused for a moment before flicking the lock on the door.
I just… Better to be safe than sorry.
The space was steamy and smelled like…burning leaves and me. As if the steam had melded our scents together.
I jerked my shirt and ruined overalls off and set the water to scalding. I scrubbed away the paint, the sand, the chalk he’d left behind. Tears raced down my face as I used everything in my arsenal of beauty products.
Loofah, washcloth mitten, half a bottle of body wash.
“Zoe.”
I lifted my face to the water to block out his voice.
“Zoe. Are you all right?” The door shook as he knocked furiously.
“I’m fine.” I squeezed the mitten in my hands until soap erupted between my fingers. The suds were red. Blood? My paint? A layer of skin? “I’m fine,” I said again.
I didn’t even realize I’d been in a full-blown panic. But it must have lasted a little bit because the water ran cold. With shaking fingers, I turned it off and huddled into a towel. Normally, I wore my towel around my studio while I dried out, but I couldn’t stand to be naked right now.
I pulled my clothes on over my wet skin and tried to squeeze the water out of my hair. I didn’t even remember if I’d washed it. Based on the knots and tangles, I definitely hadn’t used conditioner.
“Zoe.”
I tried to drag a comb through it, but it was no use. I pushed through the bottles in my cabinet for my detangler, but they just scattered into the sink in a jumble. I couldn’t read the words and was pissed off that the tears of frustration were building up again. I couldn’t even remember the last time I had cried and now I was a freaking geyser. “I said I’m fine.”
“Just open the door so I can see for myself.”
I stormed over to the door, comb in hand. I yanked it open. “You don’t even know me. What the hell is your problem with me having a goddamn good cry in the shower to get the fuck over it?”
He was wearing the same pants from earlier, but no socks and certainly not the half-shredded boots he usually wore. I frowned when I noticed there was a shoelace around his waist where a belt should be. Why the hell was I looking at his damn waist again?
I dragged my eyes up to meet his gaze. His ever-changing green eyes were lit with something different this time. He sighed and lifted my hand clutching my comb. “Come on.”
My hand was shaking as he peeled each finger away from the oversized comb.
“There’s a good girl.” He slowly drew me out of the bathroom and into the main living space. He bypassed my studio for the little alcove I’d created by the smaller window. My personal space. My bed. I had four different blankets bunched together on top of my quilt.
The one my aunt May had made for my sixteenth birthday. It was one of the few things I hadn’t been able to leave in Turnbull.
He sat me down on the edge of the bed and crawled in behind me. I stiffened. “What are you doing?”
“What girl doesn’t like a little soothing after a bad day?” He drew my wet hair over my shoulder. I shivered. I had a lot of hair and it soaked the back of my shirt. Then he started slowly detangling my hair at the ends and worked his way up.
He began humming again, as if he knew I didn’t have words right now.
And he was right.
I was utterly devoid of them.
I swayed as each stroke through my hair dragged me closer to sleep. I didn’t know this guy. In the space of an hour, I’d let him into my place, showered while he was in my studio, and now he was in my bed.
Yet I’d never felt safer. Or warmer. Or more relaxed.