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Strangers had never been the problem. “I’m not a child, Andrew.”
“You were never a child to me, Jami,” he said, voice husky again. “Not with your maturity and sense of purpose. Part of me was hoping you’d let me pamper you like you hadn’t allowed me to before, but I should have realized sooner. Your independence is something I do love about you.” He sighed. “So let me help you with something. I don’t want to feel completely useless.” His tone was cajoling again. “What about preparations for your father? I still have his instructions, from when I was executor of his will.”
“Oh.” The reminder that her father was now a body that had to be dealt with sucked the air out of the room. “I don’t remember what to do there.” The funeral for her mother back when the accident had happened felt so far away.
“So I can handle it for you?” Andrew pressed.
Jami’s hand tightened on her cell phone as she wondered again how the fire had started, but she let out a breath. “Please.” A question pressed behind the word, one she was too afraid to ask. Her suspicions had to be wrong.
“Leave it to me. I’ll call with the details and timing.”
“I need to call Skylar,” Jami said, brushing her free hand over the comforter. She doubted the call to her sister would go according to any expectations. Despite being less than two years apart in age, she’d never understood her sister’s free spirit.
“Do you want me to tell her?” Andrew asked.
Skylar had always hated Andrew. “It’ll be better if I’m the one to do it.”
He sighed in her ear. “You never think of what’s better for you, Jami, but I’ll defer to your judgement. Just know that I’m here. Even if I’m not muscle-bound and handsome.”
“What?” Jami asked. The description was too apt, and Andrew never disparaged himself.
“The nurse was quite an admirer of this new friend of yours. At least, I assume you’re still with the man, since you haven’t told me your location.” An accusation lurked beneath the words. “I’m sorry that I gave you the impression that you couldn’t trust me.”
“It’s not you,” Jami said, her throat tight. “You’ve been nothing but kind.” Too kind to say no to, over and over again. It was herself she didn’t trust.
“And this man is better for you? He sounds rough, from the description I was given.”
“Rough?” That word was the opposite of her experience with Malcolm so far. Malcolm seemed sensitive and caring, just as Celia had once said. He’d only touched her after asking for her permission. “That’s not true. I’ll be fine.”
“Of that, I have no doubt. You’re the most resilient person I know.” His offhand compliment reminded her of another reason she’d said yes to him over the years. Andrew saw her, just as she was.
When she’d become a shadow of herself, having him remind her of who she was had dragged her back enough to endure.
“I see I won’t change your mind today. Be well, my sweet Jami.”
She was considering how to respond when he ended the call.
Skylar didn’t answer when she dialed, which wasn’t surprising since morning light still filtered through the window. Jami kept her voicemail vague, knowing she’d need to call back herself anyway. She might need to call her manager, Mandy Stetson, instead. Her rock star sister had never returned her calls. Jami hadn’t talked to her at all that first year she’d run away from home. It had only added to the disorientation and loneliness Jami had been feeling.
But Andrew had been there. Jami had figured out just how weak and needy she could be at the age of nineteen. That version of herself rushed back every time she was around Andrew. She had been pathetic.
“Some food for you,” Malcolm said, setting a steaming plate on the nightstand and bringing Jami back to the present, ten years later.
Jami’s stomach lurched at the smell of sizzling bacon and scrambled eggs that drifted from the dish. “That’s nice of you, but I’m not hungry.” Her eyes widened as he set down a second plate full of cut fruit and something sweet, pushing the first just enough that they both hung over the edge of the nightstand, fighting for purchase.
“I wasn’t sure what you liked,” Malcolm said with a shrug. He moved closer. “Let me help prop you up better.”
His smell took over as her nose hovered so close to his chest, that same cinnamony scent that eased her tense muscles.
Malcolm hesitated as he finished propping her up, his face close enough that she noticed his brown eyes held flecks of dark green. The vague thought that she’d seen eyes like that before distracted her. “It’s likely been days since you ate, Jami,” he said. “Please try.” A gentle pat to her shoulder, and then he stood again.
Jami stared at him before nodding and reaching for the plate without the breakfast meat. “This is too much, though.”
“I did that on purpose to give you a variety.” He leaned against the doorjamb, folding his arms over his chest, and she realized he planned to watch her eat. “No worries. I like to cook. I own a tavern, after all.”
This extra tidbit about him distracted Jami. “A tavern?” She poked at a piece of cut-up fruit, happy when her stomach didn’t repeat that jerking motion from before as she brought it to her mouth.
“The Last Shot.” Malcolm smiled as he said the name. It was obvious he was proud of his tavern. “I’m there most days, starting at ten. That’s why I stopped by so early.” His eyes studied her again. “I didn’t expect you to be up already. I’m glad I was here.”
