Page 25 of I'll Keep Her Safe

I shake my head, looking down at my hands. “I… I said I would, and you need your space.”

“It’s an adjustment, getting used to having a young woman around,” he admits, focusing on picking lint off a couch cushion. “But I’m more than happy to adjust. You’re Bailey’s friend, and you’re welcome here.”

I shift my weight, considering this. The truth is, I haven’t felt welcome, but this conversation with Mr. Mathers reminds me of the way he spoke to Marty in the garden. It’s that compassionate side he rarely shows.

“Are you… are you sure?”

He gives a firm nod. “Absolutely. And if you’re here…” he trails off, his forehead lining self-consciously, as if he doesn’t know how to phrase what he’s going to say next. “Look, I know you can handle yourself. You were already telling Kurt to leave. But… I think it might be safer for you to stay with me for a while. He won’t show up here anytime soon, and if he does, I’ll kick his ass.”

A watery smile slides onto my lips. I’d quite like to see that, actually.

“But what about…” How do I explain the way things have felt so awkward between us, the way I’ve felt the need to avoid him? I can’t exactly tell him I’ve got the hots for him, can I? And as for his irritation with me being here…

“We’ll have to get better at being around each other,” he says, back to intently inspecting the cushion. There’s a hint of pink in his cheeks that’s hard to read, and when he looks back at me, his mouth pulls into a self-effacing smile. “I’ll stop being such a moody bastard.”

This makes me laugh, and it’s such a good feeling, shaking the remaining tension from my body. He seems pretty insistent that I stay, and I’m not going to lie, I feel safer here than anywhere else. Even now that Kurt knows I’m here, I’m sure Mr. Mathers is right. He won’t show up here again.

And if he does… is it wrong that I almostwanthim to, so I can watch Mr. Mathers put him in his place? And break every bone in his body. Would he really do that?

“Okay,” I murmur, “but I need to start paying rent.”

“No, you don’t.”

Great. Bailey told him about the money, too.

“I just—”

“I mean it, Poppy. I don’t need rent. Whatever money you’re making now, save that for yourself. Save it for your own place…” His brow creases here, as he adds, “In the future.”

“I’ll cook, then,” I say. “You probably cook a lot for yourself…”

“I do,” he admits, “though I’m so busy in summer—”

“Perfect.” I smile, pleased we’ve agreed. “Then I’ll cook while I’m here.”

His mouth curls into a grin, but I can tell he’s trying to fight it. “I won’t say no to that, but you don’t have to.”

I reach out, placing a hand on his tattooed forearm before I can think better of it. “I want to.”

He opens his mouth as if to protest, but I think he can tell how important this is to me. “Okay,” he says at last. “If that will make you feel better, then thank you.”

My gaze falls to where my hand rests on the ink of his arm. Intricate roses and leaves and vines twine across thick, corded muscle, and I absently trail a finger over one, tracing it. Mr. Mathers sucks in a sharp breath, and I yank my hand away as if I’d touched fire.

“Sorry,” I mutter. “It’s… the design is…” I shake my head, my cheeks flaming. He’ll ask me to leave. I know it.

But he studies the ink on his skin, tracing his own finger where mine had been. “It’s for my mom,” he murmurs. “Her name is Rose.”

My heart does something funny, something between a hop and a sigh. He got roses tattooed on his arm because of hismom? God almighty. How did I think this man didn’t have a soft side?

I swallow, looking away. “That’s sweet.”

He’s quiet for a beat before asking, “Why aren’t you at work?”

I slide him a wry smile. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“Lunch break. I was working on a site nearby.”

I cringe. “Sorry it turned into such a shitshow. You probably can’t wait to get back.” I expect him to laugh, but he shakes his head, eying me carefully.

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