I studied him. His eyes said he wasn’t a threat, though his broad shoulders and the way my sweats clung to lean muscle said otherwise. “Your pants were covered in dirt from my plants. I suppose I could have left you out there on the fire escape in the storm.” As if on cue, thunder clapped overhead, rattling the apartment windows. Slowly, my fingers unclenched, and the panclanked onto the counter. “So,” I said, measuring each word, “you’re some kind of bodyguard?”
“Not the kind who gets invited to dinner. Or ever meets the people they’re guarding. Usually.” He looked down, awkwardly.
Folding my arms across my chest, I said, “You’re terrible at being subtle.”
He tried to stand but got tangled in the unicorn blanket that had slid off the couch arm. He tucked it in his lap, cheeks flushed. “I haven’t hurt you,” he said, almost apologetically. “Sorry if I scared you. That wasn’t the goal.”
I leaned on the counter. “And the fake name at Marie’s? The professor get-up at the library? Sunglasses at the animal shelter?” I forced myself to meet his gaze, to ignore how his jaw flexed when he swallowed, or how his voice shook just a bit when he answered.
He shrugged. “Covers. Except that Royal is my brother’s name. As for the professor, we were in a library. I don’t think I would fit the bill as a librarian. Sunglasses help. It is easier for people to forget the details when you’re wearing them. But you’re…hard to forget.”
His compliment flicked something warm through me—amusement, maybe more. I paced over to the window, stared out at the dark street, then turned back, pulling my tea mug close. “If someone’s after me, shouldn’t you tell me who hired you? Or why?” I could feel my pulse thumping, noticing how the light hit the planes of his face.
He shook his head. “I don’t get details. My employers love privacy.” He hesitated, then added, “If you want, I can be gone by sunrise. Pretend none of this happened.”
I sipped my tea and studied him over the rim of the mug, weighing the risk—and the undeniable pull I felt. Finally, I asked, “What’s the risk, then, if I keep you here?”
He blinked. Looked at his hands. At me. “You’re safe for now.”
His answer was so simple that it made me smile. I set the mug down and said, “Fine. But if you’re going to stick around, at least be useful. I need help grading kindergarten spelling tests.”
His eyebrows rose. Then he shifted on the couch and pressed a glittery star sticker to the first worksheet. I watched something change in him; the tension in his shoulders disappeared. I laughed at a child’s sloppy “KAT” with a backwards K. He laughed too, and I realized he didn’t care about staying in character anymore.
A half hour later, he handed back the last test. I offered the couch for the night. He paused, as if to refuse, then gave me a small nod and picked the unicorn blanket up off the floor. At the doorway to my room, I hesitated. “Next time, just knock,” I said softly.
“Got it,” he murmured, voice low. My pulse leapt at the huskiness of it.
I closed the door and crawled into my bed, the absurdity of it all chasing away my unease: a former mercenary-minded stranger in grey sweatpants, now grading my kindergarten papers. I fell asleep to the city’s distant hum, a tiny, hopeful smile on my lips.
∞∞∞
The next morning, I stood at the stove pouring pancake batter into a frying pan. The sizzle of bacon burning in another pan must have woken him because he sprang from the couch and raced over, removing it from the flame.
Heat spread through me at his nearness. He was wearing a shirt when I had gone to bed, but now, in the soft light of morning, his bare chest is all I can see.
“Jesus, Lily,” he said. “The bacon looks like charcoal.”
“Sorry, I was distracted… by the pancake batter.”
“No worries, I like it burnt. Usually, notthatburnt, but I’ll eat it anyway,” he said, with a grin, taking a stool at the island.
“At least the pancakes are fluffy.” I expertly piled them onto a plate and handed them to him. “You can stay as long as you need,” I said, setting a mug of coffee in front of him. “But no more tree-climbing, and definitely no guns in the living room.”
He nodded, cut into the stack. “Understood, ma’am.”
I grinned, leaning against the counter. “Call me Lily.”
He met my eyes, that same hesitant spark. We ate in silence until I leaned forward. “So. What’s the next move in Ryker’s adult Babysitting Academy?”
He lifted his fork, considered. “We wait. If someone shows up, I’ll know. If not… I’ll be out of your hair.”
I watched him, really watched him, and felt my heart stutter at the sight of him in those sweats, hair mussed, and God, thatchest. “Ever think maybe you’re here for a reason?” I asked, almost shy.
He set his fork down. “No one hires me for fate. But I’m glad I landed here.”
I smiled, reached for construction paper and safety scissors. “Good,” I said. “Because I have three hundred baby chicks to cut out before 9:00 AM.
He pushed his plate aside and reached for the construction paper and scissors, glitter glue at the ready. And in that quiet morning light, I believed he might just be here to stay.
