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Eighteen
Sarah’s fingers paused around the needle, just before she placed the fourth stitch into Dean’s wound. She pressed her lips together and second-guessed what she’d just admitted—that her childhood had been weighed down by far more stress and responsibility than she should have borne.
Dean turned and took hold of her hand. She winced, his touch the very thing she needed to avoid.
“You’re shaking. Take a break.”
Her heart strained at his open stare and hushed tone, a tone that matched his gentle hold and echoed within the tight confines of his bathroom.
“You’re right.” She struggled to look him in the eye, so she dropped her attention to his large hand over hers, a strong hand that belonged to someone who’d lived a hard life, perhaps not too dissimilar to hers, though maybe in different ways.
What is his story, anyway?
“I can probably manage the rest, if you like.” He moved to take the needle from her, but she snatched it away. No chance she would make him stitch himself up simply because she was having a moment. She’d be okay. She always found a way to be okay.
And seriously, who was Dean? What with visits from the sheriff and the next-level first aid kit, then Dean’s seeming comfort with patching himself up…
“The sheriff’s invested in me because he’s looked out for me since I was seventeen.” She met his gaze, not one to shy away now that she’d made the decision to open up. “My family were model citizens here in Harlow. Dad had a respectable job, and the bar belonged to my mom’s family, who’d been in Harlow for as long as anyone can remember. So, when my dad skipped out on Mom, it was a shock to everyone, especially her. She had a breakdown, and Sheriff Marlin was there the day she threw all our furniture out onto the front lawn, including smashing every antique in the house. It was a huge scene that no one’s forgotten, though I wouldn’t say she was angry, so much as manic and completely broken.”
“And that’s why you said I should have called your dad?” Dean’s brows squeezed together, his expression contorted in a look of concern. “That’s how you see Sheriff Marlin, like a father?”
She nodded, the strain in her body easing a little since at least she was the one telling this story and not one of the townsfolk. “Peter got Aggie McKey to swing by and look out for my brother and me, while he drove my mom to the nearest hospital. To this day, Mom still struggles to look after her own basic needs. She was never the same after that. Our entire family has never been the same.”
“That’s why your brother lives in Boston?”
She nodded again. “Our family is scattered across the country. With Mom no longer an option, Chip was too young to stay in the house with me, so he had to live with my dad and his mistress.”
The intensity in Dean’s stare grew. “And you stayed in Harlow, alone?”
“My dad destroyed our family, and no one dared force me to stay with him. I was less than a year from being legally independent, not that I wasn’t independent already. So, what I couldn’t do for myself, Sheriff Marlin and Aggie took care of, including running Maynard’s.”
Dean settled back, as if her explanation somewhat satisfied his curiosity. He handed her the needle. “And while you already had too much on your plate, you also promised to keep an eye out for Ally?”
Sarah rolled her eyes. The lead-up to Chip leaving town had been a frenzied affair. “Ally and Chip were always close. He was devastated to leave her, more than anyone else in this town besides me. And while I lost a brother, she lost her best friend. She’s been somewhat socially aimless ever since, though we’ve gotten closer over the years.”
Dean frowned at the ground before his attention landed on her, his expression quick to lighten. “I like this.”
“What?” She let loose with a big smile and made her fourth stitch. “Me repeatedly stabbing you with a needle?”
He hissed, a rich chuckle soon rumbling through his chest. “Well, you are exceptionally good at that, and I like your confidence, but what I really mean is, I like when we’re not fighting. When we’re just talking and I get even the tiniest glimpse into who you are.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll just be another moment. So don’t get comfortable with any of that.”
Despite her cynical reply, she too liked the ease of this exchange, even if she did focus on the needle in order to avoid his intent stare. Besides, maybe part of why she found it so easy to talk with him was that he didn’t already know her entire life, unlike ninety percent of people in this town, so he didn’t have a stack of town gossip weighing down his opinions of her.
She tugged the needle out of him and tied the thread’s end. He outstretched a hand and cupped her cheek. She nuzzled into his touch for the briefest second before her heartbeat seemed to pause, and she pulled back, scared he might kiss her again.
“Don’t.”
He flexed his brow, seeming more concerned than annoyed. “I wasn’t going to.”
“Don’t touch me.”
He took his hand back. “Now you’re touching me.”
“I’m patching you up. There’s a difference.” She swallowed against the thickness gathering in her throat and peered at her fingers around the needle, bloodied and shaking.
“Listen.” He turned to her more fully, his widened pupils pleading for her attention. “You were honest with me, and I want to be honest with you. We’ve established that when I first got to town, I had no intention of staying. What I haven’t told you is that you’re the number one reason I’m still here. Sarah, my past isn’t so rosy either. I want a new start.”
