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“Huxley,” I blurt, my breath hitching in my throat as I take all of him in.
I thought I’d memorized everything about him, but seeing him again in real life… Huxley’s presence is something that can’t be duplicated in my mind, no matter how hard I try. He makes me feel… Well, that’s just it. He makes me feel.
When my eyes meet his, excitement and panic rush through me, followed by adrenaline and a warm, tickling sensation that makes its way down my spine. I’ve never been more conscious of every inch of my body, from the hairs on the back of my neck prickling with awareness to the dull, throbbing ache between my thighs.
“Jordan,” he replies, his genuine smile putting me at ease. “I was hoping I’d see you today.”
“Really? Me?” I squeak. God, what a dork! Think of something flirty. Or funny. Or anything at all.
Huxley doesn’t let me flounder in my awkwardness for too long. “Yeah, you,” he says, that smile never leaving his lips.
“Well, uh, ta-da! You found me,” I say while doing jazz hands. Jazz hands. Good lord.
“Can I help you with anything around the store?”
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” I quip, loving the twinkle in his teal eyes at my response.
He makes me feel… what is this feeling, exactly? Like I can be myself. I don’t have to try so hard to say and do the right thing and obey my father’s increasingly unreasonable rules. I don’t have to censor myself. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced that before.
“I’m happy to be of service, ma’am,” he says, saluting me as he straightens into a soldier’s stance. I giggle at his seriousness, which makes Huxley grin.
“Are you in the military?” I ask, my thoughts immediately turning to all the ways he could be hurt or killed. I already have such a strong attachment to this man, and I’m not sure if it terrifies me or thrills me. Maybe a bit of both.
“Recently retired,” Huxley responds, his voice subdued and flat.
A shadow passes over his features, but it’s gone before I can ask about it. I’m sure he has stories to tell. I want to be the one he shares everything with. And this is only our second interaction. God help me if I see him a third time. I might jump his bones and tell him to take me away from my father’s oppressive house.
“Thank you for your service,” I say, meaning every word. I can’t imagine the life he’s led and the sacrifices he’s made to keep people like me safe.
Huxley nods once, clearing his throat. There’s more to the “retirement” story, but I know this isn’t the time or place to discuss it. The problem is, with my current life, there’s never a good time to talk. There’s a reason I don’t have any friends; my father shoos them all away and keeps me all to himself under the guise of “protecting me.”
“I was about to restock that row of screwdrivers,” I say, pointing to the second row of hanging tools from the top. “You can grab the ladder right over there.” I nod in the direction of the register, where a ladder is propped against the door to the backroom.
Huxley practically sprints to the ladder, thankful to be given a task. When he returns, he sets it up for me and picks up the box of screwdrivers sitting in front of the wall I’m about to restock.
“Want me to climb up the ladder?” he asks.
“No, I can do it,” I respond, the words falling out of my mouth in a rush.
For a moment, I think he’s going to insist on being the one on the ladder. It’s what my dad would do. I’m not strong or capable enough to do something as risky as climbing four whole rungs up a ladder.
“Okay,” Huxley says easily. He’s not upset or fighting me in any way. In fact, he grins at me and says the most shocking thing. “I admire an independent, hard-working woman.”
“I…” I don’t know what to say to that. Independent? Me? He'd take back those words if he had any idea of what my home life was like. I finally settle on, “I’m trying.”
The far too sexy and sweet man gives me a gentle, understanding smile. I’m unsure how he knows, but one look into those endless teal eyes, and something clicks. It’s like he sees every part of my raw and tattered soul. He sees the struggle and the helplessness. I’ve never felt more understood in my whole life, and all this from simply gazing into Huxley’s eyes. God help me if I get to do anything else with this man. I might never recover.
“Yeah, I noticed your dad the other day,” Huxley starts as he grips the ladder at the bottom so I can climb up without shaking it. Once I’m at the correct height, Huxley holds up the box so I can pick out the correct screwdrivers and hang them in their proper place. “He’s a bit… gruff,” Huxley says, finally settling on the right word.
I shrug as I reach for another screwdriver. “He’s overprotective. Ever since…” I stop short, not wanting to burden Huxley with the details. “Well, anyway. My dad wants what’s best for me. I think.”
I didn’t mean to say that last part out loud. Huxley doesn’t miss those last two words either, his eyebrows drawing together into a concerned look.
“Has he always been so strict?”
I can tell he’s choosing his words wisely. This man already knows my relationship with my dad is complicated, to say the least, but he doesn’t seem to be running in the other direction. In fact, the way Huxley is looking at me right now, I almost believe he’d fight off all of my demons if I asked him to.
Crazy talk, of course.
