Page 9 of I'll Keep Her Safe

“Right.” Bailey sniffs as we all part, her eyes shining. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“Sounds good.” My voice is hoarse, and I laugh to ease the tension. Obviously neither of us would usually be upset at parting for a few hours, but we both know it’s not about that.

I wave to my friends through the window as the cab pulls away from the curb, fighting the tightness in my throat.It’s time, I tell myself.It’s time for something new.

4

Poppy

The drive through Manhattan to Brooklyn Heights takes forty-five minutes, and I spend the entire time eying the meter, wondering why the hell I didn’t let Mr. Mathers pick me up. When we finally pull up outside his house on Fruit Street, my stomach twists in a knot. I gravely underestimated the cost of a cab ride plus tip, but I’ve no choice but to do anything other than put it on my credit card. I give the driver a brittle smile as he unloads my bags, boxes, and rug onto the sidewalk, relieved when he pulls away.

It’s fine. I happen to love eating ramen for dinner.

Hauling a bag onto my shoulder, I enter the small courtyard through an ornate iron gate separating Mr. Mathers’s house from the street, side-stepping something large under a cover. It looks like a motorcycle, maybe. Does it belong to him? That would make sense. He looks exactly the type to ride a bike.

I go down a couple steps to the basement entrance, then, with my free hand, knock.

There’s no answer.

Setting my bag on the doorstep, I go back to the sidewalk to gather the rest of my things, bringing them into the courtyard. It’s never wise to leave your belongings unattended in New York. Though as I glance at the surrounding street, I realize this isn’t the kind of neighborhood where my stuff is likely to be stolen. In fact, this area isnice. Really nice.

Rows of townhouses and brownstones line the quiet street, ginkgo and pin oak trees cooling the air from the scorching summer heat. The afternoon light filters through their leaves, casting dappled shade across the buildings and sidewalk. A couple blocks along, I spy a cute coffee shop called Joe’s Coffee, and jazz music wafts through the air from somewhere. A couple walk past with their stroller, iced coffees in hand, laughing, and for the first time in days, my heart lightens. This might not be my ideal living situation, but there’s no denying how beautiful the neighborhood is. It’s like something out of a movie. It feels magical.

I can’t believe I almost considered moving to New Jersey instead of here.

“Poppy?”

I turn to find Mr. Mathers on the doorstep, my bag already in his hands. He’s exactly how I remember him; dark hair and beard, tattoo sleeves covering both muscular arms, his frame tall enough to fill the entire doorway.

In other words: smoking hot. Seriously, how tall is he? Six-four?

“Uh, hi.” Why is my face warm? “I knocked, but no one answered.”

“I was out back.” He shifts my bag to his other hand and hauls a box of books into his free arm as if it weighs nothing. “Come in.” I grab one of the other boxes, but he shakes his head. “Leave those. I’ll get them.”

“O… kay.” I follow him down the steps and inside, feeling strangely uncomfortable empty-handed. I have no choice but to stand there and watch him as he brings my things into his apartment.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, hauling the large bag through the doorway. “What the hell have you got in here, rocks?”

I cringe. “That’s my weighted blanket.” It was a gift from Bailey last year. She gives the best presents. “Are you sure you don’t want me to—”

He waves me away. “I’ve got it.”

I fold my arms, shifting my weight as he disappears back onto the street to gather the rest of my belongings. The minute he steps out, I take the opportunity to let my gaze wander the apartment. The front door leads from a small entryway into a hall, with a set of stairs to my left.

I peer around the doorway to my right into what I discover is the kitchen, and can’t help but wander in. Black soapstone countertop and off-white cabinets, a huge stainless-steel fridge, and a large, deep-set farmhouse sink under the low windows that face out onto the street, our eye line roughly at street-height in the basement level. The counters feel cool to my touch, and wrap around the wall to create a peninsula dotted with stools, behind which sits a large worn sofa in front of sliding glass doors, open to the yard beyond.

I’ve never been in a basement apartment like this, with the front below street level, but the yard on the same level as the living space. I love how it’s all open-concept. A space like this could feel dingy and cramped if closed off, but it has a lovely flow through to the garden, which from here I can see was once landscaped into a stunning design, but is now overgrown and unkempt. Interesting.

“That’s the lot.”

My body jerks at Mr. Mathers’s voice in the hallway, and I whip my head back around the door frame, my face burning.

“Sorry. I was being nosy.”

He grunts. I swallow nervously, not entirely sure what it means. His amber eyes assess me coolly from head to toe, and on instinct I straighten up.

“Thank you for letting me stay,” I blurt. “I hope Bailey told you how grateful I am.”

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