Page 27 of Shark’s Rise

“Of course,” she gently returned.

“You’ve been so kind. I’ll take care of the trash. Where do you keep the larger can outside?”

“Don’t be silly, Miss Gibson. It’s already been taken care of. Why don’t you rest?” The woman nudged me toward the great room and the inviting sectional sofa.

“Mmmm, that sounds like a good idea.” From firsthand experience, I knew that like every other piece in the home, the couch was magnificently comfortable. “Maybe for a few minutes, at least.”

I slipped my shoes off before putting my legs up and stretching out across the cushions—but before I could close my eyes, Elijah emerged from the office.

“Feeling any better?” he asked quietly. It struck me that this might be the kindest I’d ever heard his tone.

“Yes, thank you.” I gave back as good as he’d offered, even managing a small smile. “Hey…uhhh…do you know that woman’s name?” I asked then. “The one who just helped me?”

Elijah chuckled while walking over and then hitching a thigh up on the arm of an oversize chair. “Well, you’ve come to the wrong guy. I’m terrible with names, to be honest.” With a self-deprecating smile, he admitted, “I’ve tried every trick in the book to be better at retaining names when I meet people, but none seem to work for me.”

“Same here.” I phased my smile into a soft wince. “And I always feel bad. I think it makes me seem self-centered.”

“Abbigail Gibson, you are the furthest thing from self-centered.”

I batted a hand to the bottom of my neck as a gasp of mock surprise burst from it. “Elijah Banks, did you just compliment me?”

He started to scowl but stopped himself. With slick ease, he slid all the way into the chair. “You know I genuinely care about you, Abbi.” He securely held my gaze with his steady hazel one. “Right?”

“Right.” I pulled the quilt up to my chin, using the blanket to physically gird my emotional vulnerability. “Of course I do.”

Only then did I notice the brown shopping bag he’d brought in and discreetly stashed at his feet.

“So, hey. What’s in the bag? Is it yours?” I was more than ready for a subject change.

“Yes, well…it’s for you, actually.”

I gave in to a double-take. “Huh?”

“I set it down earlier when you came out from your room looking as green as the Grinch,” he explained.

I sat up taller and eyed the discreet package with new interest. “Really? It’s for me? You got me a gift?” I deliberately stressed the pronouns, wondering if I should even be circling the day on my calendar in red. God only knew when this would ever happen again.

“Mmmm…” Elijah tilted his head, succumbing to a weird version of a wince. “I…wouldn’t call it a gift, per se.”

I scowled. Not necessarily in anger. More like puzzlement. And a little irritation. Maybe more than a little. I should’ve known the guy had stipulations. Even for something so minor it could be contained in a small, innocuous brown bag. I drummed the fingers of one hand against the back of the other, waiting for him to either explain or just hand over the parcel.

“First, I want to tell you a story.”

“That so?” But I regretted my snip as soon as I took in the glance he gave me—from beneath worried brows.

Wait a second. Well, holy shit. Is Jailer Man Banks…uncertain about something?

“Let me amend that, actually. First, I want you to eat something. Oatmeal? Yogurt? Please, Abbigail.”

My good mood quickly soured to match my stomach. “Not this again.”

“Abbig—”

“Damn it, Elijah. I have a stomach bug, okay? Don’t be so dramatic. I’m drinking fluids and resting more than any person should need to. This thing’s just taking a while to run its course because I’m under a lot of stress.” I shrugged for good measure. “It’s really not a big deal.”

Silence settled between us for several minutes until his phone signaled an incoming message. He tapped out a reply and stuffed it back in his pocket without comment to me. I fought the urge—with every cell of my body—to ask if it was Sebastian.

Instead, I prompted, “So…the bag? Or, should I say, my gift? Come on, give it over, Banks.”