She didn’t even notice he’d gestured for her to move aside until he spoke her name. She startled, dragging her gaze guiltily to his, her cheeks burning hot despite the chill of the storm.
He didn’t comment, just lifted the hammer and drove it into the thin glass. The pane cracked with a sharp pop, shards scattering as he carefully tapped the jagged edges free until there was enough space to climb through. Then, to her surprise, he draped his shirt over the sill. A barrier, she realized—to protect them from what was left of the glass.
He motioned for her to go first. She scrambled through, feet first, then shoved wet hair from her face in time to watch him swing in after her.
The storm battered the roof overhead, each gust rattling the rafters. She shivered. He crossed past her, shirt abandoned in the window, scanning the floor beneath the leak.
“Nothing dripping through yet,” he said, glancing back at her with a crooked smile. “I’ll find something to board that up. You might want to get changed.”
He was soaked—far worse than she was. Water streamed down his chest, catching in the hair before trailing lower. Heat coiled through her stomach. She forced herself to look away, swallowing hard.
She didn’t even own a shirt that would fit him. And maybe that was for the best. Best to put some space between them.
“You should probably just go on home, anyway. You’ve already done so much.”
He gave her a blank look. “I thought you wanted help looking through the books to see if we could figure out those symbols?”
“I mean.” She hesitated, because she did want answers, and the sooner the better. But the emotions surging through her needed to be dealt with first. She needed to keep those emotions buried, nice and neat. She could not fall for him. She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. “Those symbols have been there a long time. We don’t have to have the answers today.”
He grunted, and passed the back of his arm over his forehead to wipe away the rain dripping from his hair. “I guess you’re right.”
She almost spoke, wanting to soften the dismissal because the set of his jaw told her he’d taken it as a brush-off. But what could she say? Anything more might sound like expectation, and that was the last thing she wanted him to believe—that she counted on him. So instead, she turned and started down the stairs, leading the way past her room where she could have changed out of her damp clothes, intent only on seeing him to the door.
On the landing, the wordsSee you tonightrose to her tongue, aching to be said. But she bit them back. If she said it, he might think she assumed he’d be at Rumrunners again, that she needed him there. The truth was, she had come to appreciate his company, the steady comfort of his presence. Maybe too much. And that was dangerous.
“Ah, all right then,” he said when he opened the front door. “I hope the answer’s not in the books you tossed in the dumpster.”
She shivered, both with the chill from being wet and the idea that she might have been too hasty in getting rid of her grandparents’ things. “Maybe the raccoons can help us out, then.”
He coughed out a laugh, then waved and headed out the door.
“What on earth?” his mother demanded when she opened the door to see him still sodden on her front porch.
He’d found a shirt in the truck, put it on, but it smelled musty, and he hoped he’d left something else here, something that didn’t abuse his nose very time he took a breath.
“I was helping Erielle put a tarp on her roof, and we got stuck up there when it started raining.” He stepped inside, but not too far, in case she didn’t want him dripping on the floor, though mostly he was just steaming now.
Her eyebrows went up. “Helping Erielle put a tarp on her roof?”
“Yeah, she has a leak, and it’s ruined part of the attic floor, not quite to the next floor, but since it’s a rainy time of year…”
“So she’s staying?”
The guarded edge in her voice made him pause. “I don’t know. We didn’t talk about that. I just know she’s cleaning the place out and making it livable for now. She doesn’t seem to have a lot of money. Why?”
“Just curious.” Her voice was brighter now.
“How’s Dad?”
She rolled her eyes. “‘I’m sure you know. Why don’t you come in and say hi? Maybe that will put him in a better mood.”
Based on their recent interactions, Sam doubted it, but tugged his shirt away from his chest as he followed his mom into the living room. “Hey, Dad.”
His father looked up from the television screen, where he was watching an old wartime miniseries, his favorite. “Where’ve you been?” he asked gruffly, with a glance at Sam’s wrinkled shirt.
“I’ve been over helping Erielle.”
“Erielle?” His dad’s eyebrows shot up. “She’s back?”
