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Flipping on the sad excuse for a ceiling light, she found the kitchen empty. A rinsed plate dried by the sink. Back to their normally scheduled programming.
Except… a cup waited by the coffee maker, as if set out just for her. Next to it, a note.
Left you dinner on the stove.
That was new.
She lifted the lid from the covered skillet. Potatoes and sausages—still warm and smelling incredible.
Was this an apology of some sort? She wasn’t about to go look for him to ask.
Instead, she plated the early dinner, poured the fresh coffee, and took a seat at the table.
Not a sound indicated Oliver was even in the house. That was fine by her, because there was nothing either one of them could say to fix their problem—no matter what, he would never trust her.
Which was why he wasn’t telling her what he knew about Kyle.
Staying here would only hinder her. That was now clear.
Tomorrow, she’d get her phone and laptop, pack up, and go. Yes, she’d made a promise in exchange for Oliver’s address. But there were ways to keep it without delaying her search. Days were slipping away, carrying Netta closer to a precarious future.
She caught it at the edge of her vision.
A freaking mouse on Oliver’s counter.
Right in the middle, as though it belonged there. She didn’t mind mice, per se. She loved all animals. But having the unexpected little bugger sitting on the counter—
And then it sat up.
It sat up like a dog, its paws tucked under its chin, and stared at her.
The move was so sudden, Addison leaped to her feet and squealed. The chair crashed to the ground, but the mouse didn’t even flinch.
Oliver’s footsteps thundered from upstairs. He appeared in the doorway, eyes sweeping over her. “You okay?”
No, she wasn’t okay.
She didn’t know where her brother was, Netta’s future hung in the balance, there was a freaking mouse in the kitchen, and last night she’d let Oliver come all over her, had orgasmed all over him.
On top of it all, he’d just showered.
As he approached, she caught the woodsy, green scent of his soap—cedar and something fresh, like a mountain stream. His mop of hair was pulled back in a ponytail. The look suited him. Combined with his beard, it gave him a wild quality, as though he’d just emerged from a forest.
Righting the chair, she pointed toward the creature, which had yet to move. “Look.”
Oliver released a surprisingly sympathetic little tsk. The kitchen seemed to shrink in half as he entered, approaching the animal with a soft step, murmuring to it as he walked. “Did you get lost, poor thing? All turned around?”
“Do you have mice in this house?” Suspicion crept into her voice at his calm demeanor. Was this a common occurrence?
“Not in the house. This is a wood mouse. They don’t live indoors. It must have gotten in by accident.”
Inching closer, she tried to see past his broad back. “Don’t hurt it.”
“Oh, I’d never hurt it,” he crooned. “Poor creature is lost and confused. Come here, my darling.” With a gentle swoop, he enfolded the creature in both his large hands. “Don’t bite me, my love. I’ll get you on your way to your home in no time at all.”
The mouse didn’t seem frightened by the large man now holding it. Its little whiskers twitched, then settled as Oliver lifted it from the counter.
“What are you going to do with it?” she asked, half afraid he’d do something drastic. The poor animal was lost, and she had always been drawn to broken creatures.
