Page 82 of Show Me

A laugh cuts across the bar again. Too loud. My attention shifts before I can stop it. The same group. Still watching. Greg and Lindsey are deep in a conversation at the bar. It’s the guys who were eyeing Ruby a moment ago.

Bella catches it. “Relax,” she mutters. “They’re just looking.”

“I noticed.”

Ruby glances between us. “You don’t have to hover.”

“I’m not.” I don’t blame them for staring at her. She’s stunning, with long auburn hair that skims her shoulders and back as she moves. Jesus. I’ve lost my mind.

Bella snorts. I don’t respond.

Ruby keeps watching me a second longer. Not irritated. Not amused. Just… taking it in.

Across the room, Greg shifts, glancing this way again. I meet his eyes once. Hold it. He looks away first. Good.

The conversation picks back up around the table. Emily talks about a shift, Bella interrupts with something half-finished and probably exaggerated, and Ruby watches them instead of scanning the room.

Noise fills the space again. Ruby’s shoulders ease a fraction. Not gone. Just lower.

One of the guys at the bar shifts like he’s about to get up and walk in our direction. My shoulder brushes Ruby’s. He sits back down as if he realizes she’s with me.

The corner of her mouth lifts just enough to say she noticed, but she doesn’t call me out on it. She turns her head, green eyes twinkling and making my chest constrict. “Tonight?”

“Tonight.”

She nods once and turns back to the table, but the space between us doesn’t increase when I leave my arm where it is. The shift back to the others feels almost invisible.

After last night, I’m not sure what that means. For her, I know she means installing security cameras, but for me? Spending another night with her and not touching her might take more willpower than I possess.

And then what? There’s not one casual part of Ruby, and I don’t do complicated. But for one night, maybe I can do this.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Ruby

“Let’s put one here.” I point to the corner of the house. “And here.”

Xavier doesn’t answer right away. He studies the angles instead, stepping back a pace, then another, eyes tracking the line of sight from the eaves to the yard.

“That covers everything?”

“Most of it.” Not everything. The word hangs there anyway.

He shifts the ladder, climbing halfway up before pausing again, looking out toward the side yard.

“There’s a blind spot along that fence line,” he says. “Trees cut the angle.”

My brow furrows. “Can you fix that?”

“Not without cutting down the trees.” The light sweeps down the siding, across the narrow strip where grass meets foundation. “And here.” I follow to where the beam lands. “There’s no way to angle the camera down enough from this height. Anything close to the wall, right under it, it won’t catch.”

My stomach tightens. “So someone could just…”

“It’s small,” He adjusts the bracket, screwing it down, like closing the gap matters even if it doesn’t solve it. “And they’d have to cross open yard to get there. The other cameras would catch them before they got close enough to this spot.”

Still, the word sits heavier than it should. The drill kicks on, sharp and steady. Metal bites into wood. I stay on the porch, arms wrapped around myself, watching him work.

The cameras are smaller than I expected. They’re nearly invisible tucked beneath the eaves as if they belong there. Watching the driveway. Watching the yard. Watching everything. My eyes narrow. Except that little spot there. We’ll get another camera for that spot.