Page 29 of Show Me

Emily squeezes my hand. “You shouldn’t have to deal with either of those situations alone.”

“I wasn’t alone. Xavier was there when Greg got onto me about the file issue, and even though my boss thinks I’m failing, he was there to step in if Brent got too out of line.”

Bella tilts her head. “Did Xavier intervene?”

I wrinkle my nose. “Why would you think that?”

“Intuition.” She lifts a shoulder. “I just know things.”

“Whatever.” Bella is annoying with her constant observation of things. “He asked if I was okay.” The wine glass in front of Bella makes my mouth water. “I said I was. He didn’t argue.”

Emily leans back, crossing her arms. “Of course he did.”

“Of course he did what?” Right now, I’m finding them both annoying.

“Checked on you,” she says. “That’s his thing. Always keeping an eye on you. Making sure you’re okay.”

“That’s not….” I start, then stop because it is. “It was nothing.” I straighten my shoulders to ease the pain settling in my upper back. “He was there. He asked. End of story.”

Bella’s smile is soft, knowing. “End of this story. Not the whole one.”

Dominic bumps her shoulder. “Let the woman drink her water in peace.”

I raise my glass in gratitude. “You’re my favorite tonight.”

“Don’t let it go to his head,” Bella says.

Jake leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. “For what it’s worth, if that guy crosses a line, you tell us.”

“I can handle it.” The words come out as if I’ve said them a million times. I don’t like pulling others into my problems.

Emily arches a brow. “You can handle it and still let people have your back. Those things are not mutually exclusive.”

I open my mouth to argue. Close it. Because she’s right, and I hate when she’s right.

The server drops off a basket of fries, and the conversation shifts again to lighter, easier topics. Plans for next weekend. A concert someone wants to see. Dominic arguing that country music peaked in 1998. And the frustration from the week drifts away.

Chapter Fifteen

Xavier

The Next Day

I’m not stopping. That’s the lie I told myself as I turned on Maple. Before I kept driving past the job site, past the hardware store, and past the last reasonable place to change my mind.

Ruby’s street is quiet at the edge of town, where pavement gives way to gravel and the houses sit far enough apart to make pretending you’re alone easy.

The kitchen window is open with the low hum of a drill easing its way outside. I park. To check the walls. To check the ceiling. To make sure she hasn’t fallen through something. The drill stops as I shut the truck door.

The back door stands open, propped with a brick. I knock on the frame before stepping inside. “Hello?”

“Kitchen.” Her voice comes from the next room. “If you’re here to tell me I bought the wrong screws, you’re late. I already regret everything.”

I step into the kitchen and stop. Cabinet doors lean against the wall. A section of the countertop is gone, exposing pipes. Dust hangs in the air, catching the late morning light slanting through the window.

Ruby stands on a step stool in the middle of it all, drill in hand, hair piled on top of her head, a streak of something, probably drywall dust, across her cheek.

She looks surprised when she sees me. Not unhappy. Just… surprised. “You do just show up places.”