Whoa.
Did . . . Harrison just get all macho possessive on me, or . . . ?
“Don’t look so shocked,” he says. “I have a low tolerance for wankers. What he did to you means he deserves at least a jab in his face. And the last thing I need is to get in trouble outside of my job.”
I should keep my mouth shut. Turn around and go. But I can’t help it.
“You’d get in trouble for me?”
“I’d rather not.”
Then he jerks his chin behind me. “You better go back. Been out here long enough.”
He’s back to being the Harrison I know.
Though, come to think of it, I know nothing about this man at all.
Other than the fact that he wants to punch my ex in the face.
Which is, well, actually kind of sweet.
“Okay,” I tell him.
I turn around and walk down the dock, my heart beating fast for no reason at all.
“Thanks for the cake,” he says. I look over my shoulder at him, and he’s raising the plate in the air. “Tell your mother she did good.”
I give him a soft smile and continue on my way back to the house.
That giddiness threatens to rise up inside me, but I squash it down once again.
Nine
It rained last night. The air is sweet, and sparkling water droplets sit in the curved bow of the hostas like stick-on rhinestones. The sun barely makes it through the overlap of the hemlock and fir, just enough to make everything glitter.
I knew my mother would need a few days of rest after the hullabaloo over at the royals’, so I’m in her garden, weeding. I hate it. I hate how it hurts my back, I hate how tedious it is, I especially hate how blackberry bushes seem to take over when you’re not looking. But the work is rewarding. At least that’s what I tell myself when I’m picking thorns out of my fingers.
The last few days have been pretty easy. With my mom on her downward spiral and keeping to her bedroom, I’ve been able to clean the house, record a podcast on a paranormal romance I’ve been reading (bear shifters are all the rage right now, and I’m not complaining), do lots of cooking, and . . .
That’s about it.
Even though I told Monica it was fine that we have to deal with the media, I still didn’t leave the house until late last night to do a grocery run. I didn’t see any media, but I did see a black SUV parked on the side of the road, and I have to wonder if it was Harrison in there or the new person who supposedly came in from England. Either way, it’s kept the media away for now.
In keeping to myself I haven’t seen anyone but my mother since the dinner the other night. I thought maybe they’d drop by or send a text, but nothing. It probably means nothing at all, just that they’re busy, but I can’t help but wonder if there was something I did wrong. Maybe they discovered my mother and I are too nutty to have as neighbors. Maybe Harrison told Monica I was being distracting and inappropriate. After all, I brought him cake when he was on duty.
But he was the one who ate that cake like it was foreplay, I remind myself.
Unless I’m only seeing what I want to see, which has always been the case with me. It’s how I’ve ended up with my heart broken every single time.
And why am I even thinking like this?
I shake the thought out of my head and get prepared to yank out the final weeds when I feel a presence behind me.
I whirl around and see Harrison.
Three guesses as to what he’s wearing?
“What are you doing there, you creeper?” I cry out, getting to my feet.
“Sorry, I thought I was being loud,” he says, looking slightly embarrassed.
I roll my eyes. “If that’s your loud, I can’t imagine what you’re like when you’re really trying to sneak up on someone.”
“I’m not a secret agent, you know,” he says wryly.
Well, at least he finds me amusing this morning.
“How would I know? You said you wore many hats.”
His brows come together, and I can’t tell if he’s looking at me or the garden. “Let me guess, you’re a gardening expert too?” I ask.
He takes a few steps forward, until he’s right in front of me, and then reaches out for my face. I try not to flinch as he runs his finger lightly along my cheekbone.
“You have dirt on your face,” he says in a low, gruff voice, before he takes his finger away.
My heart is pounding so loudly in my chest, I’m afraid my ribs aren’t enough of a barrier.
“Oh,” I manage to eke out, and then quickly rub my forearm along my face.