Текст книги "Taking Connor"

Автор книги: B. N. Toler

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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

There’s a small restaurant within walking distance of our hotel, so we head out, leaving the moving oven that is my car parked. Once we’re in the restaurant, we’re seated promptly.

“What can I get you?” A curvy redhead smacking gum obnoxiously asks as she grins at Connor. I can’t help the thoughts that enter my mind as Connor smiles back at her, a look of interest in his gaze. Has it really been eight years since he’s been with a woman? Wow. I’ve managed two years—well, more if you count the time Blake was sick—of abstinence, and that’s starting to weigh heavily on me.

“Four shots of Tequila and a Corona,” Connor orders.

“And for your wife,” the waitress darts her gaze to me. I fight the urge to raise my brows at her obviously fishing question. She wants to know if he’s taken.

“Oh, we’re not married,” I quickly correct her and immediately regret it. What does it matter if she thinks we’re married or not?

“She’s my sister,” Connor adds as he winks at her, and I shift in my seat as their eyes lock. Okay. I guess it does matter.

“Oh . . . well. Lucky sister,” she sighs. I can’t fight furrowing my brows and twisting my mouth. Does she realize how dumb that sounded?

“I’ll have a glass of water and a Miller Lite,” I interrupt and grab my purse. “I think I’ll head to the restroom. Be right back.” I fly out of my chair and dart to the back of the building. It’s been a long time since I’ve flirted or been hit on, but I remember what it looks like. It’s not hard to see Connor is looking for some action, and I’d rather not be there to witness it.

I take my time in the restroom, applying ChapStick and looking at myself in the mirror. Compared to the young, voluptuous redhead serving us, I don’t look quite as . . . eye-catching, but I’m not an old hag either. Of course, I have no idea why I’m comparing myself to the waitress; it’s not like it matters to me if Connor finds me attractive anyway. Running my fingers through my black hair, I fluff it up around my scalp. My hair is long, and my figure is still holding up; my boobs are still perky, and my ass hasn’t gotten too wide with age. Not having kids probably helped with that. That thought makes me frown. If I had a choice, my hips would be as wide as the great outdoors after having babies. But I guess it wasn’t in the cards for me. Staring at my reflection, I will myself to look on the bright side. Maybe I am childless, but I have my health, I’m an attractive person . . . I think, and I’m only in my thirties. Maybe I’m not the young, fresh woman I was when I met Blake. He got my best years, no doubt. But I am breathing. I am a flesh and blood woman, and I know one day I’ll want to be with someone again. There’s just so much guilt I’m feeling and need to get over right now. Blake died. I wonder if I’ll ever feel like it’s okay to let another man touch me.

When I head back to the table, two shots sit in front of where I’m sitting, and two are in front of Connor. “I hope you don’t think I’m taking those,” I grimace as I sit.

“I do,” Connor grins. “One is to celebrate. I’m a free man, and it is your great misfortune that you picked me up today, so you must celebrate with me.” He nudges one of the shots in my direction, his dark eyes twinkling as I scrunch my nose.

“Blake obviously never wrote you about my low tolerance for tequila. It makes me crazy,” I laugh as I reach for the shot and turn it between my fingers on the table.

“Then we’re two birds of the same feather,” he jests. “Crazy is okay.” He gives me a pleading stare. “Please?”

I know I’m going to regret this, but when a man who just got out of prison after eight years asks you to take a shot with him, it’s hard to say no. So I plaster a smile on my face, nod in agreement, and raise my shot glass. “To freedom.”

“To freedom,” Connor repeats with a nod, and we tap our shots together before downing them. He immediately takes the lime and sucks it.

“Straight up, no lime. You’re a badass,” he laughs when he sees I’ve left my lime untouched.

“What can I say?” I shrug. “What’s the second shot for?”

Connor’s smile fades as he stares down at the shot in his hand. “It’s for Blake.” Lifting his shot glass, he says, “To you, Blake. The best man I’ve ever known.”

Tears sting my eyes as I lift my glass. “To Blake,” I manage though my words are strained, my voice hoarse with emotion. After we drink our shots of tequila, Connor smiles.

“I heard it was a nice funeral,” he murmurs, staring at his empty shot glass.

“It was,” I agree.

“I wanted to be there, but I wouldn’t have gotten released to go. Even if I had, it would’ve cost Grams thousands to get me there, and I would’ve been in a pink jumpsuit and cuffs with guards on either side of me. That would’ve only made things more difficult for everyone. Blake deserved a dignified funeral. Not one with his loser cousin drawing everyone’s attention.”

I swallow hard, trying to push down the thought of a man like Connor—so big and tough—wearing a pink jumpsuit. Shaking my head, I clear that thought. “He would’ve understood, Connor. He spoke of you all the time. You were his hero.”

“Some hero,” he grumbles as he wipes a palm down his face, his eyes laced with sadness.

Redhead returns and takes our order, and Connor and I fall into conversation. He tells me stories about growing up with Blake, the crazy things they used to do. Many of the stories are ones I’d heard from Blake, but I listen intently, enjoying Connor’s version of the events.

When our food is delivered, as Connor cuts into his country fried steak, he asks, “Tell me how you met Blake.”

I chuckle. “He didn’t tell you?”

“Not in detail. No.”

My eyes flit to my hand holding my beer bottle. The way Blake and I met wasn’t exactly your classic romance story. “I was a waitress. At Hooters,” I admit, trying to fight the heat crawling up my neck.

Connor almost spits his food out. His eyes travel down to my chest, before nodding. “You’ve got the body for it,” he adds, and my eyes widen. What an honest thing to say to your deceased cousin’s wife.

“Uh . . .” I struggle to move on. If Connor notices my shock, he doesn’t let on as he goes back to cutting his food. “It was his birthday. His friends brought him in for dinner. Drinks. He flirted with me but didn’t hit on me. His friends did. Big time.”

Connor chuckles softly. “So how is it you ended up going on a date with him?”

“They all left, and an hour later he returned. Alone.” I can’t help the smile that tilts my lips as I remember Blake with his easy smile and shaggy hair. “By that time, we were really busy, and all of my tables were full. He waited an hour and a half to be seated at my table.”

Connor grins widely. “That’s my boy,” he laughs.

“When I asked him what I could get him, he told me my phone number.”

“Confident bastard,” Connor chuckles.

“I told him no, but he stayed the remainder of the night and every time I came to his table he’d ask again, but in the end he left that night without my number.”

“Playing hard to get?” Connor questions before sipping his beer.

“No,” I answer honestly. “Do you know how many guys asked for my number during my shifts?”

“I bet,” he somewhat snorts a laugh through his nose.

“To make a long story short, he returned three more times and sat at my table all night asking over and over for my number. Finally, I gave it to him.” I shrug and take a gulp from my beer.

“What finally made you give in?”

I stare down at the bottle of beer in my hand and smile. “Blake was . . . refreshing. He wasn’t like other men I had met. Sometimes I think meeting him was a punishment, and sometimes I think it was a gift,” I admit.

“Punishment?” Connor asks, his voice going deep.

“It’s not fair to have known someone so great and have them taken away so soon.”

Connor nods in understanding before taking a sip of his beer. “There wasn’t one letter he wrote to me where he didn’t talk about you, ya know?” he says, and I frown. Blake adored me. I was so lucky to find that in my life even if it was only for a short time.

After we finish dinner, Connor insists on paying. I have no idea where he got the money from, but I don’t want to insult him, so I don’t argue. When I stand, he remains sitting and glances to the back of the restaurant. He’s looking for our waitress.

“You staying?” I question.

“Maybe for another drink or two,” he answers, his gaze meeting mine. “But I can walk you back.” He moves to stand, and I place a firm hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

“It’s literally four hundred feet. I think I can make it,” I assure him. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

With that, I leave wondering why I feel so . . . lonely. Clearly Connor is going to hook up with our waitress. And it will be a fun sex-filled night with no strings attached. I’ve never had a one night stand, but I can see the novelty of them. More so now than ever. My body wants something my heart isn’t really onboard to handle. Maybe I could do it. Find a one night lover, a faceless man to sate my need while protecting my heart simultaneously.

As I enter my hotel room, I decide to think about it a little more; not make any rash decisions.

When Connor emerges from his room the next morning, he looks like a brand new man. I look like death walking. His little hook up screeched all night as his headboard tapped against our adjoining walls.

“You okay?” he asks after taking a long stretch.

“Never better,” I mutter tiredly. His door swings open and our waitress from last night exits wrapped in nothing but a towel, her red hair billowing down her back. She smiles shyly at me, but when she looks at Connor, she bites her lip and gives him a knowing smile.

As she coils her arms around his waist, he looks to me awkwardly. “Uh . . . Demi I’ll meet you at the car. I’ll just be a minute,” he promises.

“By all means, take your time,” I mumble as I drag myself to my vehicle.

It takes ten minutes before I see Red walking barefoot across the parking lot to her car, carrying her shoes, and smiling ear to ear. They must have had a quickie. When Connor climbs in, he nods with a weird smile on his face. He knows I’m not stupid, and I know I’ve been sitting in a hot car while he either A, screwed Red’s brains out, or B, she sucked him off.

“Feeling better?” I tease as I start the car.

Scratching his head, he scrunches his face in embarrassment. “I’m sorry Demi. I’m not really that kind of guy, but . . .”

“Hey . . . eight years is a long time. I imagine anyone would be jonesing for some . . .” I stop myself. “Sorry,” I shake my head. “I just mean . . . I somewhat understand is all,” I explain stupidly. I’m babbling . . . why am I babbling?

“You do?” he questions.

Heat runs rampant across my face. “I mean . . . ya know . . . it’s been a while.”

“Oh,” he nods in understanding, his brows rising slightly.

“I mean . . . since before he died. He was really sick and on a lot of medication . . .”

Connor just stares at me as I verbally vomit. “Shit,” I groan. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I just meant don’t feel bad. People have needs. I get it. I’m right there with you . . .”

I pull my car out of the hotel parking lot, silence filling the cab. Inside my head, I’m waging war with myself. Who talks about their sex life with their cousin-in-law they just met? Their dead husband’s ‘pseudo’ brother at that?

“So, you haven’t . . . ,” he pauses as if searching for his next words. “Been with anyone since before Blake passed?”

I stare straight ahead, hating myself for starting this conversation. “Three years,” I admit gruffly.

He doesn’t say anything else, which I appreciate, but hate as well. It leaves me questioning, ‘is he dropping it because he doesn’t know what to say to me because I’ve obviously overshared, or does he think I’m selfish for complaining about it, not that I was complaining.

We make it home in eleven hours, and I’m wiped. We stopped at an auto parts store on the way after Connor figured out the issue with the AC. It needed a charge, so we stopped and got it charged. Unfortunately, it only lasted about four hours until it crapped out again.

“Must be a leak in the lines. I can fix that when we get back to town,” he promised after it went out again.

So we sweated our asses off until we hit Colorado, and the temperature dropped a bit. Pulling in the driveway of the two-story Victorian I own—well, Blake and I owned it together before he passed—I park the car, and we get out.

“The garage apartment is furnished and ready for you,” I tell Connor as he stretches, and my eyes watch him in the dimming daylight. Connor shoves his hands in his pockets as he takes in the garage and the house.

“This is a nice place,” he notes.

I can’t help but think about Blake. Once upon a time, this house was meant to be the home where we’d start a family together. But I guess some things just aren’t meant to be. He loved this house. He loved it because it had a neighborhood feel but sits on two acres with an amazing mountain backdrop. Most of the land is laid out behind the footprint of the structure and leads into the mountains. The neighborhood is small, one main street with houses on each side giving us privacy on the back of the property. I may not ever have a desire to sit on my back porch in my underwear or run around in my backyard naked, but if I want to, I can. No one would ever know. Or I could before Connor took residence in the garage apartment behind my house.

Clearing my throat, I say, “I’ll give you a tour. But Blake said you needed to see something first.”

“He did?”

“Yeah,” I laugh softly remembering my late husband staring starry-eyed, imagining the day he’d present this to Connor. “He’s had this planned for a while.”

Reaching in the car through the driver’s window, I press the garage door opener that’s clipped to my visor. The garage door starts to rise and when it’s fully open, I enter and flip a switch to turn on the above head lighting. The light illuminates the walls that are lined with shelving where tools and instruments are kept in bins or are hung on pegs, and there’s a lift in the second bay, ideal for working under vehicles or changing the oil.

“Holy shit,” Connor murmurs as he steps inside. “Blake worked on cars out here?”

I snort. “Yeah right. He was a man of many talents, but mechanics was not one of them. He did this for you. So you could start working on cars and build yourself a business.”

“Are you serious?” His brows furrow as he runs a hand across the metal tool bench.

“He wanted to help you get on your feet.” I smile softly thinking of Blake obsessing over every detail of this garage. “I think he wanted you to be close, too. He really missed you, Connor.”

Sometimes, something happens that completely blows you away. Like witnessing a freak accident, how it sucks the breath from your lungs, your body frozen, unable to even contemplate breathing for a long moment. Or when you get that tingly feeling all over as the adrenaline sets in. Well, that’s how it feels to witness Connor Stevens cry. It’s sad and dark, yet beautiful and soft all at once. His dark eyes are clenched closed as tears stream down his face. He doesn’t whimper or suck in air. He hunches over placing his elbows on the workbench and holds his head in his large hands.

Gingerly, I approach, hesitant to touch him. Mourning Blake has been hell for me, but Connor was locked away in Arizona when his cousin passed. I imagine the grief has finally hit him now that he’s home. My hand rests on his back—incredibly hard and bulging with muscles—and I begin rubbing comforting circles. I should probably leave and give him a moment alone, but grief is a fickle thing. It feeds on loneliness and Connor is pretty alone right now as he just got out of prison. I promised Blake I would help Connor and I will.

“There’s more,” I whisper after a few minutes when I see his eyes are open, staring blankly at his hands.

He stands quickly, wiping his nose with his forearm, eventually grabbing the hem of his shirt and pulling it up to dry his face. When I saw him in his bath towel yesterday I didn’t notice he has several thick scars on his stomach. They’re about an inch in length. Tugging his shirt back down he clears his throat, and I realize I’ve been staring. Again.

I quickly speak, and hope he didn’t notice. “Over here.” I lead him to the far side of the garage and pull the tarp off of the Harley.

“Are you serious?” he gasps, shock laced in his tone. “He was supposed to sell it and pay my attorney with that money.”

“He kept it.”

“Who paid my attorney?”

“He did. He kept the bike for you.”

The tears begin again and this time he doesn’t hide his face from me. His lip trembles as he battles his emotion. Every feature on his face reflects his pain, and it looks like he’s almost pleading silently with Blake in a way. I can read it like an open book. Why, Blake? Why did you do this for me? There are other feelings that are coming across such as, I’m such a piece of shit. I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve a cousin like you. I imagine it’s not easy to be a man and cry. After all, society doesn’t exactly list it as a sign of masculinity. Connor’s eyes hold such anguish, I can’t help it. His sorrow is so prevalent, it seeps inside of me and I start crying too. Unexpectedly, he pulls me to him and wraps me in his massive arms. He’s warm and hard, and I bury my face in his chest and sob. We spend several minutes wrapped in each other’s arms before I finally pull away, and we both wipe the tears from our faces. Connor lifts his shirt again, but instead of wiping his own face, he wipes mine.

“There now,” he croaks. “All better.”

“Thank you,” I respond hoarsely, his sweet gesture melting my heart a little. When my gaze meets his again, I see he’s watching me, almost examining me. I wipe my face and nose some more wondering if he’s looking at my makeup smeared or if I have something hanging out of my nose.

“I probably look a mess,” I sniffle as I wipe some more.

He steps toward me and takes my wrist in his hand, pulling it from my face. “Actually, you look really beautiful.”

Silence falls as we stare at each other, neither of us even taking a breath. Didn’t I just think the same thing about him?

Connor scrubs his face roughly with both hands and clears his throat. “I didn’t mean to get emotional. It’s just . . . a lot,” he says, as he looks about the room. “I didn’t expect this. I didn’t know he was putting all of this together for me. He was here, dying, worried about . . . me.” He runs a hand over his head and down his face.

“Why don’t I show you the apartment and let you rest? It’s been a long couple of days.”

“Yeah,” he nods. “That sounds good.”

The apartment above the garage is small, basically one large room with a bed, television, and small kitchen area. There’s a tiny bathroom with a stall shower, in the corner and I half wonder if Connor will even fit inside to bathe.

“The fridge is stocked with drinks and a few other things. If you make me a list, I’ll pick up some other things for you at the store tomorrow.”

Connor stands in the room and stares. I wonder if it feels too confined for him after spending so much time in Tent City, outside. I imagine I’d want to sleep somewhere more open with more space if I were him.

“The bathroom is out of order right now. Plumber comes tomorrow to hook up the pipes or whatever,” I say. I’m not an authority on the subject, so I don’t bother trying to explain what I don’t know. “Oh, and these are for you,” I mention as I open the closest drawer in the kitchen and pull out the cell phone I had added to my account and business cards I had printed. Blake left no detail unattended under his instructions.

“This is your cell and the charger, and these are your business cards. They already have your cell number on them. That way when you’re out, you can give people your information and drum up some business. I posted a few fliers in various businesses around town a few days ago with your information. I hope that was okay,” I add. While Blake had this all planned, he couldn’t have known with one hundred percent certainty that Connor would want to work on cars when he came home.

He takes the cell, an Android, and eyes it. “You’ll have to teach me how to use this thing.”

I smile. “Of course I’ll teach you. Although I’m not as techy as Blake was, but I manage.”

He shakes his head and blinks a few times. “I could never repay you for this, Demi.”

I place my hand on his where it rests on the counter. “You don’t have to.” His gaze meets mine, and he’s staring at me like he’s trying to figure out the catch. I take my hand away and fumble with my keys.

“Here’s a key to the back door. There’s a bathroom just past the kitchen to the right when you enter.” I slip the spare key off of my key ring and place it on the small counter.

After a long moment of silence, Connor asks, “Do you mind if I open the windows?”

“Oh, of course not. It’s a nice evening. This place probably needs to be aired out anyway,” I say, as I open the window I’m nearest to. With a small wave, I tell him, “I’ll see you in the morning.” Turning to leave, Connor grabs my hand causing me to turn back.

“Thank you, Demi,” he whispers and kisses me on the cheek. I know I’m blushing as I nod and exit without another word. I’m realizing Connor Stevens isn’t at all what I expected . . . at least he doesn’t seem to be.

Slipping in my house through my back door, I opt to leave my luggage in the car and bring it in the morning. Exhaustion owns me, and my skin feels heavy with a day’s worth of sweat clinging to me. Not bothering to turn any lights on, I head straight upstairs and into the hall bathroom, closing the door behind me. The house feels a little stuffy, so I open the bathroom window to let some air in and turn on the shower. I undress, get in and stand under the hot water until it goes cold, forcing me to get out. Wrapped in a white towel, I head for the guest bedroom, tired out of my mind.

Ever since Blake passed, I haven’t been able to sleep in our bedroom. I can dress in there, but sleeping doesn’t happen. I’ve tried, several times, but the still and silence of the night blared in my ears, and my mind only wanted to think of him and how I missed him lying next to me. Before Blake passed, I knew I would miss him. He was my husband, of course, I would. But there are a lot of little things I miss, things I never thought I might, things I took for granted; the feel of his hand resting on my hip as he slept. How he’d roll over and press his back to mine, not exactly cuddling, but touching. He was always touching me. The way he’d always wake so early, and the sound of him in the shower would ease me back to sleep.

So, I tried the guest room. In this room, I found enough peace to sleep. And so, I’ve slept here ever since. Still wearing nothing but my towel, I move to the window and slide it open. The night sky is lit up with stars, and I close my eyes and say a little prayer for Blake. I hope wherever he is, he can see me, and I hope he finds great peace in seeing Connor come home.

I back away until my legs meet the bed and plop down, only to be jolted up and tumble to the floor. The room is dark, but there’s enough light from the moon to make out the silhouette of a very large man who has just jumped off of the bed in front of me.

My mind fumbles for what to do—I’m in nothing but a towel. Is this a burglar or a rapist? So, I scream. It’s blood curdling.

The man starts to run, hitting his foot on the bedpost and begins shouting obscenities. “Goddamn it! Son of a mother—”

“What the . . .” another voice says, and I crab crawl away from the bed. There are two people in here. Oh my God. They’re going to kill me!

“Demi?” The second voice rasps, practically sucking the scream right out of my throat as the nightstand lamp turns on.

“Wendy?” I gasp in disbelief. When I look to the right, Wendy’s husband, Jeff, wearing nothing but a pair of loose boxer shorts, is keeled over still cursing at his wounded toe.

“What the hell, Wendy?” I shriek as I stare at them.

“Shit. Are you okay?” she asks as she comes running around the bed in what I guess is Jeff’s undershirt while I adjust my towel.

“No, I’m not okay!” I boom. “You guys just scared the shit out of me! What are you doing here?”

Foot stomps coming up the stairs cause her to turn her head and Wendy doesn’t have time to answer because Connor comes barreling in the room aiming a golf club straight for Jeff’s head. “You mother fuc—”

“Connor, don’t!” I cry springing from the floor, almost losing the small towel wrapped around me. The club stops mid-swing as Jeff stumbles back into me, tripping us both, causing us to crash to the floor, my towel falling open as he lands on top of me, his back pressed to my bare body.

“We’re her family!” Wendy yells as she jumps in front of Connor. I’m clinging to Jeff for dear life with one hand while my other hand blindly and frantically searches for the towel I’ve lost.

Jeff, realizing our extremely awkward predicament, moves to roll off of me, but I jerk him back. His large body is the only thing covering me and my nakedness right now. “Jeff, if you move I’ll kill you,” I growl, and his body stiffens, but he remains still. “Wendy! I need my towel. Now!”

Wendy’s gaze moves to where her husband and I lay on the floor, and her eyes widen to the size of saucers. Her eyes dart across the floor. When she sees the towel and grabs for it, she reaches out for Jeff’s hand at the same time to pull him up. “You better close your eyes babe,” she warns and yanks him up, tossing the towel to me. I quickly glance toward the door and see Connor has left. Thank God for that. Wendy shoves Jeff out the bedroom door, his hands are covering his face, and his shoulders are hunched as if he’s just been pepper sprayed.

“I’m so sorry, Demi. I nearly peed the bed when I heard you screaming,” she laughs.

“You?” I question. “I sat on your husband.”

“God, I’m sorry.”

I don’t tell her it’s okay because right now I’m mad as hell. I just had my best friend’s husband lying on top of my naked body.

Wendy pushes her curly blonde hair behind her ears and fixes her brown eyes on me. “Are you okay?”

Am I? I guess I am other than having the living shit scared out of me. “What are you doing here?” I ask for the five thousandth time.

“Jeff’s mother offered to keep the kids tonight, but she wanted to stay at our house because she says they break too much stuff at her house. With Jeff in between jobs, we didn’t want to spend the money for a hotel. I didn’t think you’d mind. I left you a voicemail.”

I’m not upset they’re here; they’re always welcome in my home. However, I would have liked some forewarning, but I can’t be mad at her—just the situation.

“I just had your husband pressed against my naked body,” I moan in embarrassment. Wendy rolls her eyes.

“He’ll be living off that for years,” she jokes making me cringe.

“Not to mention Connor probably saw me naked,” I gripe.

“Oh, poor Connor,” she mock gasps. “I’m sure seeing a beautiful naked woman was just awful.” I roll my eyes . . . again. “Get dressed,” she moves toward the door. “I gotta make sure Jeff didn’t break his toe.”

When I head downstairs after dressing, I find everyone in the kitchen. Jeff is leaned against the counter while Wendy sips a glass of juice. Connor is standing with his arms crossed by the back door. Wendy smiles brightly and takes Jeff’s hand, leading him out of the kitchen.

“It was lovely meeting you, Connor,” she says. “I think I’ll just get Jeff to bed. It’s been a bit of a stressful night for him.”

“Goodnight,” Connor replies. “Nice to meet you both.”

As they pass by me, Jeff has his eyes squeezed closed and head turned away from me.

“I have clothes on, Jeff,” I tell him.

“Sorry about all that, Demi,” he murmurs as they keep going. “I didn’t see anything.”

When they’re up the stairs and out of hearing range, I sigh and look to Connor.

“Well, now that you’ve been properly welcomed home,” I joke. “I am so sorry about all of that.”

He takes a deep breath and releases it. “I heard you scream and . . .”

“Thank you for coming so quickly. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Connor’s mouth curves slightly on one side and his gaze meets mine. “It was quite the welcome home party,” he chuckles, and even I join in as my embarrassment begins to subside. I can’t imagine how crazy he thinks we all are. Our gazes remain locked even as our laughter begins to ebb.

“Do you like to sleep in or are you an early bird?”

“You don’t get to sleep in when you’re in prison. I don’t think I could sleep in if I tried,” he replies, his gaze leaving mine and darting to the floor.

My chest tightens with his words. Through the rollercoaster of an evening we’ve had, I seemed to have forgotten where he’s been and what he’s done. He’s a felon. A violent one and if I’m honest, it scares me somewhat. But on the other hand, I know it’s only the stereotype freaking me out—once a violent felon means always a violent felon. And that makes him dangerous. But I don’t feel that when I’m with him. Quite the contrary. I actually feel . . . safe.

“I’ll make breakfast in the morning. I think the plumber will be here early so just come on down and join us. Wendy and Jeff are early birds, too.”

He doesn’t agree, but simply nods once and says, “Goodnight,” as he exits the back door. After he leaves, I crawl on my sofa and cover myself with the throw. My guestroom is taken, and there’s no way I can sleep in the master. But lumpy sofa or not, my exhaustion quickly consumes me, and I drift off to sleep.