Page 20 of I'll Keep Her Safe

My mouth stretches into a grin. He seemed as much when I met him last week.

“I’m so glad I ran into you,” Daisy says, then cringes, no doubt remembering that I almost stepped in front of a car. I laugh, and she adds, “You know what I mean. It saved me a phone call.” She leans back with a chuckle. “Can you start tomorrow?”

I don’t have to think twice before answering. “I’ll be here.”

9

Wyatt

Ipull my pickup truck into a spot and switch off the engine, resting my forehead against my hands on the wheel. It’s been a busy morning in the heat, and while I wouldn’t usually stop home for lunch, I’m working on a job site that’s only five minutes away, and the temptation was too great. There’s nowhere decent within walking distance for lunch, a fact the crew repeatedly remind me of. Besides, I’ve been craving some quiet time at home. I’m used to having the space to myself, to come and go as I please, and I’ve felt the need to stay out more since Poppy arrived. I miss sitting on my sofa, with a beer and the cool comfort of the air conditioning, watching TV. Which is exactly what I plan to do for an hour now, safe in the knowledge Poppy is at work.

The street is quiet when I step from the truck with my lunch. I grabbed a veggie burger from my favorite place on the way home, but I know it won’t be anywhere near as good as the burger Poppy made. As I cross the street, I have to fight to keep thoughts of her from my mind. The way I’ve replayed our dinner together, over and over since that night. How cute she looked this morning in her little work uniform. The hurt on her face when I agreed it was time for her to move out.

But what choice do I have? I can’t keep avoiding my own home.

And Idefinitelycan’t keep letting myself enjoy her company, because I can’t have her in all the ways I want. I can’t let myself think of her like that.

I swing my keychain around my finger, sighing as I approach the house. Asking her to move out is for the best, I keep telling myself, but…

My thoughts trail off as I spot a guy inside the courtyard, hovering by the front door with a bunch of pink lilies.

“Can I help you?”

He turns when I speak, and I run my gaze over him. Short, sandy-blond hair, eyes a pale blue, stubble on his square jaw. Around twenty-five and tall, but I’m taller by a few inches. He’s immaculately dressed in a crisp gray suit, as if he’s popped out of the office for an hour.

“Oh, hey, man.” He gives me a megawatt smile as I step through the gate to the courtyard and draw up in front of him, and I frown, instantly irritated by the way he greets me like we’re old friends. “Is Poppy home?”

My frown deepens. “She’s at work. Why?”

There’s a flash of something in the guy’s eyes, but it’s too quick for me to read. “No worries. Can I bring these inside? Put them in some water?”

I hesitate, feeling a prickle of protectiveness. Who the hell is this guy?

“I’m her boyfriend,” he adds.

My heart drops. She has aboyfriend? Why didn’t Bailey tell me? Endless hours about the ex from hell and notonemention of her current boyfriend?

For fuck’s sake.

“I won’t be long,” he says, already stepping closer to the door. “Just need to get them out of the heat.”

I grip my keys tightly, wavering. I don’t really want to let this guy into my house, and not only because I was looking forward to some quiet time alone. There’s something about him that unsettles me, but I shove the irrational feeling away.

“Fine,” I mutter, unlocking the door and letting him inside. I kick off my work boots in the entryway, noticing he doesn’t remove his leather loafers. Whatever, he’ll be gone in a minute, anyway. “In here.” I lead him into the kitchen, then search under the sink for a jar or something to put the flowers in.

“Nice place,” he murmurs, casting his gaze around the living room. “How long have you had it?”

He’s perfectly pleasant, but something about him grates at me as I pull a mason jar from the cupboard. I tell myself it’s because I want to be left to eat my lunch in peace, and not because I’m still reeling from the fact that Poppy has a boyfriend. I mean, it’s not like I’m jealous. She’s fucking twenty-five, for Christ’s sake. And I’m…

Well, it doesn’t matter.

“A few years,” I say vaguely. I motion for him to hand me the flowers, but he doesn’t. Instead, he walks further into the living room, and I grit my teeth.

“Poppy loves it here.” He glances at me, as if to check my reaction, which, admittedly, is one of surprise. Despite that dinner we shared, I got the sense she hated being here with me. She was the one to announce she was leaving, after all.

I keep quiet, hoping he’ll get the message and leave, but he turns back to lean against the counter and look me over coolly, as if sizing me up.

“How do you know her, again?” he asks, which strikes me as an odd question. Shouldn’t he know this?

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