One broad shoulder lifts in a shrug. “A gentleman would never tell.” He glances down at the tarp in his hand, seeming to finally notice it, and twin wrinkles shoot up between his brows. “What’s the tarp for?”
“I’m planning to tie it around my shoulders and run around town to see if I can catch the wind and fly.”
“Sounds fun,” he says without missing a beat, and something inside me warms in appreciation of it. He seems unflappable. “But really…?” he says, leaving the question hanging.
I let out a little sigh and take the tarp from his hands. “I need to cover the hole in my roof.”
“Ah.” He pauses for a moment, looking like he’s chewing on his next words. “Did you find a place to stay?”
“Mmhmm.”
Relief sags his shoulders. “Good. I felt bad about the mix up.”
I shrug. “Don’t worry about it.”
His eyes search mine. “So where are you staying?” I think he got a hint of my situation back at the hospital, the complicated dynamics I’m juggling. From another strange man, I might be weirded out by the question, but I think he’s genuinely concerned. He seemsgoodin a way I feel down deep in my bones.
So I really don’t want to tell him I’m about to move back into my Airstream. He’d feel guilty about something that absolutely isn’t his problem.
I consider lying for half a second, but finally decide to tell the truth. “My Airstream.”
He glances at the tarp I’m holding, putting the pieces together. “You’re going to cover the hole and stay there?” Then he lookspointedly outside, at the gathering storm clouds, the howling of the wind audible even in the store. “When it’s about to storm.”
“I’ll be fine.”
He sighs like I’ve said something that made him very tired. “Is that safe?”
I lift a shoulder in a shrug. “Safe enough.”
“You really don’t have any other options?”
“None that I’m willing to consider,” I say, holding his gaze.
Outside, thunder cracks, and there’s a flash of lightning that streaks across the sky, lighting up the store in a sickly shade of purple for one heartbeat. Jack’s jaw works, his eyes never leaving mine. I can see the gears working in his brain, the same steady, assessing look on his face as when he was checking my vitals in the hospital. Like I’m a problem he’s trying to solve.
Finally, just as the first raindrops start to pound on the glass, a steadytap, tap, tap, he says, “You could stay at the cabin. With me. There are two bedrooms.”
I can’t help it, I laugh. A sharp, surprised bark. But then when I realize he’s serious, the sound fades. “Jason, that’s really, really kind, but I can’t do that.”
“Jack,” he clarifies. “And why not?”
“You just insinuated that you spend the majority of your time at home naked.”
“I’ll wear clothes.”
“You tried to bash my head in with a coffee pot the last time I was there.”
“I’ll refrain.”
“You’re just trying to be nice.”
“It would actually really give me peace of mind to know that my patient with a concussion isn’t staying in a camper with a hole in the roof in the middle of fall.”
“It’s the middle of September.”
“Stevie.”
“Josh.”
