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I clear my throat and cross the room, not wanting the silence or the distance between us to continue to exist. “I never thanked you,” I say.
“For what?”
“You kept my children safe.”
The blush on her cheeks makes the freckles disappear. “I didn’t really do anything. The smoke detector went off and they came down the stairs.”
“Please don’t diminish what you did. You got them out of the house and called the fire department. If you hadn’t been there and acted quickly, my kids might still be alive, but our home could have been destroyed.”
She swallows down the remaining whiskey—hissing as it no doubt burns the back of her throat—before stepping back and averting her gaze. “I didn’t do anything differently than anyone else would have done. You hired me to take care of Colton and Piper, and that’s what I did.”
“Okay,” I relent.
She walks toward the couch, picks up the small duffle bag she brought with her, and disappears into the half-bathroom. While she’s gone, I search for a few extra blankets. This place isn’t cozy and homey like the house in Seaside. There aren’t many extras because other than sleeping and eating breakfast in the mornings, I don’t spend a lot of time here when I’m working. I manage to find a few extra sets of sheets and since it’s warm, a top sheet should suffice.
Moments later, she emerges from the bathroom dressed in an oversized T-shirt that hangs off one shoulder, exposing the sun-kissed skin. It’s so long, it nearly covers the tiny shorts she’s wearing. I’ve seen her in skimpy tank-tops and short-shorts, but they don’t compare to how she looks right now. She seems bare, almost exposed.
“Is this okay,” I ask, holding out the sheet.
“It’s fine.” She takes it from me, her fingers brushing against mine, sending jolts of white heat across my skin.
“What are you doing here?” The question escapes my lips before I even have a chance to think about what I’m asking. I’ve been wondering why she’s in Oregon, so far from her family and friends in Georgia.
“We can’t stay in the house until it’s safe.”
I shake my head. “No, I mean, why are you in Oregon, working for me, and not back home? What sent you running from home?”
She sighs and settles down in one corner of the couch, pulling the thin cotton sheet over her bare legs. “I’ve done what my father and my brother wanted me to do my entire life. I’ve always been the “good girl,” and for once I wanted to do something for me. Get in a van, live life without any sort of agenda, and see the country.”
“So, there was no horrible boyfriend who broke your heart?”
A groan floats through the dark. “In order for anyone to break my heart, I’d have to let them get close.”
“Smart move.”
“Is it?” There’s a rustle of her body against the leather of the sofa. “Do you regret being married to your ex-wife?”
I sigh. Things were difficult between me and Serena, even before her secrets blazed a scorched-earth trail across our lives. “I don’t regret meeting her or having children with her,” I manage to say.
“That’s a very diplomatic answer.”
