Page 18 of I'll Keep Her Safe

I skip the shower, dressing in my blue polyester uniform and applying a quick coat of mascara and lip gloss, then grab my bag and head downstairs. Usually I’d eat breakfast before leaving, but I’ll eat when I get to work. They often have half-price day-old muffins the staff can buy, which will have to do—even if it does offend my culinary sensibilities a little.

Coffee, however, is not negotiable. I step into the kitchen, planning to fill my travel mug and hit the road, and find Mr. Mathers at the kitchen counter, nursing his own cup of coffee.

Dammit.

We’ve successfully avoided each other for three days, since the dinner where we seemed to get along and then suddenly didn’t. I’ve tried not to let myself think about it, but I haven’t been able to stop replaying the events of that night, trying to figure out where I went wrong. Why he seemed to let his guard down, then closed it back up tight.

And the only conclusion I can come to is that he was trying to be polite. I’m his daughter’s best friend—I don’t expect open hostility from him—but I have to imagine this isn’t his ideal living situation. He doesn’t want to have to deal with me after a long day at work, and I don’t know what I was thinking by making him dinner. I guess I was trying to be friendly, to show him my gratitude for letting me stay. It was nice of him to accept, but I can’t expect more from the guy. He doesn’t have to make conversation with me or share his life story. I shouldn’t have been so nosy, asking him about his bike and why he doesn’t ride anymore. I should have let the poor guy eat in silence.

But it’s made one thing very clear; I can’t stay here. I’m a homebody—I love being in the kitchen, being cozy at home—and it’s hard living somewhere you feel like you can’t relax. Somewhere you feel you shouldn’t even really be.

So the plan, after my shift ends at 2 p.m. today, is to check out a few apartments in upper Manhattan. It makes sense that I find somewhere closer to work, especially since I haven’t heard from any of the coffee shops and restaurants in Brooklyn. I won’t be able to afford much more than a windowless room, but anything is better than staying where I’m not wanted. I’ll need to find another job because money is going to be especially tight once I move out, but one thing at a time. As for Bailey worrying about me living with a stranger, well… I won’t share that with her until I’ve found somewhere decent.

I glance from Mr. Mathers to the coffee machine, wondering if I should skip my morning caffeine and bolt for the door, but he’s already seen me, and I don’t want to be rude. In fact, now would be a good time to tell him my plans.

“Morning,” I say, crossing to the coffee machine. The aroma of fresh beans hits my nose as I fill my travel mug.

“Morning.”

Straightening my spine, I turn back to smile at Mr. Mathers. “I’m so grateful for you letting me stay here,” I say, but he doesn’t look up from whatever he’s doing on his phone.

“You’ve already said,” he mutters, and I frown at his cool response.

Okay.

“But,” I continue, “I’m going to check out apartments this afternoon.”

He glances up, his brows lifting in surprise. “Why?”

Why? Is he kidding?

I shift my weight. “I… I think it might be for the best.”

His gaze drifts over my uniform: a cobalt blue dress with a deep-V neckline and white collar, a white belt at the waist, and a skirt that stops mid-thigh. It looks like something an air hostess would’ve worn in the 60s, and I hate it. At least I don’t have the white apron tied around my waist yet, but that isn’t much consolation.

Mr. Mathers seems fascinated by the uniform, though. His gaze travels over me agonizingly slowly, as if cataloging what a hideous piece of attire it really is. For a second it seems as though he pauses to take in my bare legs too, but I realize that’s wishful thinking, as his gaze snaps back to my face and his brow furrows into a frown.

“I agree.”

Wow, okay.

It’s not like I thought he was going to beg me to stay or anything, but maybe he could at leastpretendlike he isn’t so eager for me to leave. For Bailey’s sake, if nothing else.

I square my shoulders. “I’ll be out of your hair ASAP.”

He nods, his jaw set as he scrolls through his phone again.

Honestly, what is this guy’s problem? Why does Bailey think he’s so great? Sure, he’s her dad, but he was alsoabsentfor the first half of her life, and yet she goes on and on about him as if he’s the greatest guy on the planet. I mean, yes, I’m drawn to him too—but forentirelydifferent reasons.

Besides, no amount of muscles or tattoos or raw, masculine sexuality makes up for being a jerk. I don’t care how hot you are. If you can’t be kind and compassionate, forget it.

My mind flashes on his interaction with the old man in the community garden a few days ago, and confusion swirls through me. He almost seemed like a different person talking to Marty.That’sthe guy I made dinner for. That’s the guy who showed up to dinner, too, then promptly morphed back into this guy.

Well, whatever. He’s Bailey’s problem, not mine. As soon as I find somewhere new to live, I won’t have to worry about him at all.

I turn for the door with renewed determination, coffee in hand. “Have a nice day,” I call out, but he doesn’t even bother to respond.

The sooner I can move out of here, the better.

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