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“He’s a great guy. I was happy to help.”
“Yeah, like you go in and wrestle a weapon from someone every week.” She stopped, bit her lip, and said, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to remind you of…”
“I’ll admit I had a bit of a trip wire happening, when I walked into the barn.”
She nodded. “I’m sorry, I just sensed you’d know what to do—and—” She hesitated and he longed to fold her hands in his, stop her torturing those fingers. “I—I just met a brick wall inside myself. I couldn’t go look for him.”
He caved and covered both her hands with his. The finger twisting stopped. Her head was bent but he could tell she was biting her lower lip.
“Hey, it’s okay to not know what to do. To be—” Would she bristle if he said scared? He chose “vulnerable” instead.
Didn’t she know that her vulnerability was leaking out of every one of her pores right now? The desire to put his arms around her became a physical ache. To hold her close and comfort her.
Her head shot up; her smile radiant, incongruent. “Vulnerable. That’s a novel one for me, isn’t it?” And then, gently but firmly, she tugged her hands from his grasp.
He smiled back as his heart plummeted and he said, “Guess I’ll turn in, as my nan used to say.”
‘Sure, me too,” she murmured, then reached up and kissed him lightly on the mouth.
He returned it, felt her lips respond for a split second. Then she stepped back. “Better not.”
“No. You’re right. Gran might be watching from above.”
“She would definitely not approve of shenanigans in her bed. Goodnight then, Solo-man.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Where’s Dr J gone? I was getting to enjoy that title.”
“Doesn’t do to be predictable.” And then she swivelled on her heels and, with a toss of those dark curls and the words “sweet dreams”, she was gone.
He watched her shimmy off down the dimly lit passage; a part of him, the part that would never get enough of her, almost crying with frustration at the gorgeous tilt of those hips in the silky green dress, moving out of reach.
“Goodnight, Miss Unpredictable,” he called. She held up her hand and wiggled her middle finger, which he guessed was the bird, Polly-style.
Yeah, Miss Unpredictable—the name sure suited her.
