“We’d better get going, too. I’m hoping to have those new windows installed first thing in the morning, Anastasia.”
“Thanks, Garrison. I really appreciate it.”
“Anytime.”
“I love you, Anastasia,” Katelyn says as she pulls her in for a hug. “So much. Please call if you need me.”
“I will, thanks. Love you, too.”
Weston and Ryker move forward in Garrison and Katelyn’s absence.
“Leopold has a deputy coming by every so often to check in. If you see anything off, call us.” Weston glances at Ryker. “I, for one, would love to get my hands on the guy who’s doing this.”
Ryker grunts in agreement.
“Stand in line,” I tell them. “And thanks again for getting us out of there when you did.”
“No need to thank us. That ringtone will be thanks enough,” Ryker says.
“You’ve got it, Tank.”
Both Ryker and Weston head out the door, closing it behind them. Everyone was only here for a half hour or so, but it feels like forever since I was alone with Anastasia.
“What’s in the bag your mom brought?” I ask her.
“Clothes.” She gestures to the stained and torn outfit she’d been wearing when my shop blew. “And stuff to shower. Once I get the cast, at least.”
“You’re staying?” I had just assumed she’d be going to stay with her mom, but to know she’s going to be here—it brings me more joy than I deserve. Especially when I know it can’t be comfortable.
“Sawyer, I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”
“That’s my favorite kind of stuck.”
She smiles.
“What did Tessa say to you?”
“When?”
“After she hugged you. Whatever it was, it made you smile.”
Her cheeks flush with color. “Oh. That.” She laughs softly and leans back in the chair, drawing both knees up to her chest. “Well, the night we watched Hogan’s Heroes, she and Katelyn were giving me a hard time.”
“Why?”
“They kept calling it a date. So she told me that you and I moved awfully fast since we seem to be living together now.”
I snort. “This isn’t exactly how I pictured it.”
“You’ve pictured it?”
“Only every day since the moment we met.”
Anastasia’s smile widens now, and her hazel eyes burn brightly. At least until a knock at the door pulls her attention.
Rose, the nurse who’d called me when Garrison had been injured seven months ago, steps in. “Hey, sweetie, we’re ready to get that cast on.”
Anastasia stands. “Great. I think I’m going with neon yellow,” she adds with a wink in my direction.
