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“This is my place now,” I said.
Chris’s eyes narrowed, a glint of challenge in their depths. He was tall, growly, and imposing, someone I didn’t need in my space. Whisper Ridge was supposed to be a friendly place to start over, and the hostility pouring off this guy was anything but happy. His accusation of breaking in hung in the air between us, and with it, a surge of defiance swelled within my chest. I didn’t come here to make enemies, but I wasn’t about to lie down and show my belly either. This place was my legacy, my chance to start fresh, and no amount of brooding intensity from a stranger was going to shake that from me.
“I’m a concerned citizen,” he said, and leaned to the right a little, I guess to look around me at Fox. I blocked his view because my son was not there to be judged or stared at.
“This is mine.” I motioned to the surrounding space—the countertops I would polish until they gleamed, the chrome stools I’d line up perfectly. “I inherited it from my aunt.”
He tipped his chin at me. “Then you won’t mind me getting the sheriff out here.” I saw that he still had his cell out.
“Go for it,” I dared him. “Call him.”
Chris moved again, a fraction more to the right, placing a hand on the back of one of the booths, and yet again, I concealed Fox. But that meant little when Fox did this complicated parkour jump thing and ended up standing right in front of me, a saucepan in his hand.
“It’s my dad’s place,” he snapped. “Just leave him alone.”
I didn’t want my fourteen-year-old son defending me—he’d done enough of that in this life, and all the wariness drained out of me in an instant.
“It’s okay, Fox; give that to me.”
Fox hesitated, then threw me a glance over his shoulder, and I nodded in reassurance. Only a few months ago, he’d been defending me from his father, from paparazzi, from lawyers, and he hadn’t turned that part of himself off since. For all his teenage angst and moodiness, he would always be in my corner when I was threatened. He turned and thrust the pan at me, as if he wanted me to have a weapon, and I fumbled it as he let go.
“I want him to leave,” Fox said, his eyes bright with emotion. “Make him go.” There was a streak of fear running through his words.
Chris’s stance shifted, and he forced himself to relax before he pocketed his cell the same as I’d done. “Didn’t mean to scare you, kid,” he said.
Oh, shit. He did not just use the word kid. I waited for Storm Fox to explode and beat his sexy ass.
Fox rounded on Chris. “I’m not a kid. I’m fourteen, asshole!”
I winced. “Fox!”
“It’s okay,” Chris said, when clearly it wasn’t. We were in a standoff. Fox vibrating with anger, and I recognized the hint of panic; Chris staring at him as if he’d seen a unicorn riding a bike; and me, right at the back, losing control of the situation.
“Okay, okay,” I raised a hand and stepped between my son and Chris. “I have paperwork. I’m meant to be here, and?—”
The door swung open, with a rush of wind-driven ice and snow, and another man barreled in. A flashlight filling the space with light, his eyes were wild, peering past me, until they landed on Chris. “I saw your car,” he panted, the words tumbling out, “and the board is missing from the window! What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
I saw the man’s concern, and Chris’s reaction.
“For fu—” Chris stopped the curse, probably for Fox’s benefit. “I’m okay.” Then, he nodded meaningfully in my direction, and the man's expression changed from worry to confusion.
“Noah Bennett,” I said.
The new guy’s expression of confusion cleared as he spotted us in the shadows, and he straightened. “Scott Sheridan, Sheridan Realty. I wasn’t expecting to see you in here.” He extended a hand, which of course I took, then he glanced back at Chris. “This is Lily’s great-nephew,” he explained. “And this is Chris,” Scott added, “my brother.”
Chris and I stared at each other for a moment.He hadn’t known who I was—he didn’t mean to accuse us of anything or trigger me or Fox.
“Is there anything you need, Mr. Bennett?” Scott asked, all business.
“Electricity—”
“I can handle that,” Scott interrupted, “and when I come back, we can talk valuation because I have an interested party?—”
“I’m not selling the place,” I said, and heard Fox’s huff of dismay. “This is our new home.”
Chris raised an eyebrow, but Scott was bewildered enough to comment. “What are you going to do with it? Downstairs doesn’t have residential zoning in place?—”
“We’re living in the apartment above and reopening the diner.”
