Page 27 of Freeing Lark

Then one of the bags tore. Metal washers, screws, and bolts scattered across the sidewalk. Two of the washers rolled into the road before coming to a stop against the tire of his truck… under the truck. Lark had stared down at the mess. “Of course.”

Hoot had crouched to help pick up the items. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” She’d picked up a handful of washers. “Although I’m beginning to think the universe has something against me.”

He’d almost smiled. “Maybe it’s trying to tell you something.”

With a broad sweep of her hand over the dispersed belongings, she asked, “What is this mess trying to tell me?”

“Stop carrying too much.”

She’d looked at him. Then looked at the bags he’d placed at his feet before helping her pick up the mess. “That’s rich coming from a man who carries… how many bags are there? Five?”

“Fair point.”

She’d laughed, then stood, and promptly stepped backward into a decorative planter. Hoot had caught her by the elbow before she could tumble backward over it. She’d stared at him. He’d stared at her.

Neither had said anything. Then Lark had whispered, “Murphy’s a douchebag and so is his law.”

He’d laughed. Actually laughed. She’d looked genuinely startled. So had he. “Didn’t know a law could be a douchebag.”

“This one can.”

They’d finished cleaning up the mess without any more incidents. Hoot had fished the escaped washers out from beneath his truck then they’d parted ways.

The second incident had been worse. Much worse.

He’d been about to enter the bakery for his morning espresso fix when the door unexpectedly flew open. The wind had picked up overnight and there were forecasted storms for later. Unfortunately for him, as he neared the entrance, the individual who had just opened the door was unable to keep it steady against a sudden blast of wind. She went flying, and the door struck his forehead.

Wincing as he touched his head, already feeling the tenderness that would soon bloom into a bruise, his gaze fell upon the woman below. She was groaning, clutching her elbow, an unknown liquid coated her and the ground around her. The bag she’d been carrying, buffeted by the wind, tumbled down the street. Sensing his nearness, she tilted her head, her eyes, a swirl of emerald and smoke, slowly lifted to find his. A soft groan escaped her lips once more. “I’m going to move.”

His lips twitched as he crossed his arms. “Probably a good idea."

“Maybe to another state. Or a padded room.”

“Seems extreme.”

“You don’t understand.”

“I understand.”

She’d narrowed her eyes, unsure what he was saying. “You do?”

“You keep causing trouble whenever I’m around.”

Her eyes had widened. “I cause trouble?”

“Statistically...”

“You’re impossible.”

“So I’ve been told.”

She’d smiled despite herself. And Hoot had realized, with some irritation, that he liked making her smile. That was dangerous. Because somewhere between the river, the coffee, the hardware store, and their current situation, he’d started noticing her.

Too much.

Which was why sitting in an office now, digging through her life, felt wrong. Even if it was necessary.