Page 96 of Her Wicker Guardian

I hesitate.

Locke waits.

There are things I could say. About earlier. About touching him. About why I stopped. About attraction and experience and how unfair it would be for me to make decisions based on knowledge he doesn’t have yet.

But none of that belongs in a conversation he hasn’t asked to have.

Not tonight.

“Goodnight, Locke.”

“Goodnight, Rachel.”

I make it halfway to the stairs before he speaks again.

“Rachel.”

I turn.

He’s still sitting on the couch, one hand resting beside the empty space where the popcorn bowl had been.

“Thank you for the movie.”

The simple pleasure in his voice affects me more than it should. “You’re welcome.”

“And popcorn.”

I smile.

“Especially popcorn.”

“Yes.” I go upstairs.

In my bedroom, I plug in my phone without checking it again, change into a T-shirt, do my nightly bathroom routine, and climb beneath the covers. The cottage is quiet for a few minutes.

Then I hear the television start downstairs, turned low enough that I can’t make out the words. My body notices immediately.

A man is moving around downstairs.

The old response should follow: listening harder, measuring every sound, waiting for footsteps on the stairs, trying to determine what kind of mood is coming toward me before it reaches the bedroom.

Instead, I hear the faint murmur of the television and picture Locke sitting on my couch, probably trying to figure out the remote without waking me.

He’s downstairs because I invited him in. When I needed space tonight, he gave it to me.

The locks are set. The cameras are on. My gun is where it always is.

But for once, those aren’t the things making my breathing slow.

There’s a man downstairs, and I feel safe enough to sleep.

Chapter Seventeen

Locke

Since I came through, people have touched me to understand what I’m made of or to see whether something needed fixing. Last night was different. Rachel wanted to touch me, and I wanted her to. The place on my arm feels the same this morning, but I keep noticing it anyway.

She takes a bottle of water from the refrigerator and hands it to me. Our fingers brush, and warmth travels higher into my arm before she lets go.