Page 21 of Where Roads Lead

“Tell me about it,” I responded, following his gaze to cobwebs in the corner of the ceiling.

He stood up, moving toward it with intent.

“I saw that,” I told him, needing him to know I wasn’t some slob who didn’t properly clean her house upon moving in. For some reason, I didn’t want to give him any other reason to have a worse opinion of me than he already did. “I tried, but I couldn’t reach up there and I didn’t exactly pack a ladder when I—”

But he took off his backward cap, revealing a head of thick, tousled brown hair that stopped me in my tracks.

It’s not that I thought he’d be bald or anything, but I certainly didn’t expect him to be packing a head of hair that could earn him a spot in a shampoo commercial.

Right while I was in the midst of admiring it, he reached up and began swatting at the cobweb with his hat.

“Well, that’s convenient.” I blinked. “How tall are you?”

He was already moving to the next thing.

“Did you change the batteries in this?” Will moved to the other side of the kitchen to examine the smoke alarm.

“Shouldn’t that have been done before I moved in?”

“You shouldn’t trust other people with things regarding your own safety,” he said, back turned toward me as he fidgeted with the buttons.

“I—”

But my words were cut off by a screeching test sound, alerting us to the fact that the battery life was safely in the medium zone.

“See?” I beamed triumphantly. “It’s fine.”

“Hardly,” he said. “Is there even a carbon monoxide alarm in here?”

“How would I know?”

“I’ll pick one up at the store. I can install it tomorrow.”

“Uh.” I held a hand up in protest. “I can do that myself.”

“I don’t trust that you will.”

I had to admit, the guy had good instincts. Replacing alarms wasn’t exactly on the top of my list of priorities at the moment, but there was no way I would let this random man come and start making all these home improvements because he thought I was some pitiful woman who didn’t have anyone else in the world to help her.

I mean, I was. But I didn’t want him thinking it.

“Then maybe I shouldn’t trust you to change the lock,” I challenged, crossing my arms across my chest as I matched his stare.

“What?”

“It’s about my safety, after all.” I shrugged, throwing his words back at him. “I mean, what if you screw it up or something?”

“I won’t,” he said.

“You just told me not to trust other people with my own safety.”

“I didn’t mean me. I meant other people.”

“What’s wrong with other people?”

“Most people aren’t reliable.”

“And you are?”