Page 32 of The Moment He Saw Her

She wanted to argue but didn’t.

“No socks?” he said, looking at her ankles.

“I have them on, you just can’t see them.”

“Then why wear them?” Women and fashion—he never understood why it was so complicated. He dressed for warmth, comfort, and nothing else.

“You ever heard the word ‘fashion,’ Ryder?” Helena said from behind them.

“No. And you need to wash every window and clean the oven today.”

“Yeah, right,” the girl scoffed.

“Come to the cafe after. I’ll feed you and you can study,” Ryder said.

“Sweet.”

Stepping to the hooks beside his front door, Ryder took down a thick scarf that his mother had given him and he never wore and handed it to Libby.

“I can’t wear that.” Libby finally looked at him, and he saw the wariness.

“Why?”

“It’s not mine,” she said, backing away from him. She’d put something around her eyes, and again he marveled at how fast she’d gotten all that done. The woman was cute, no getting around that fact. Those eyelashes, though—he was sure he felt a breeze when she blinked.

“You slept in this house, and it’s not yours,” he said. He wanted to add in my arms but kept the words to himself.

“Who does that scarf belong to?” she asked, eyes narrowing now.

“One of the women I sleep with. I rotate Monday through Saturday. Sunday is for rest.”

She stared at him.

“It’s mine, all right?”

She took it and wrapped it three times around her neck. It was red tartan and looked cute, not that he’d tell her that.

“See, that wasn’t hard. Now get in the car.”

She did as she was told, and he backed out of the driveway in silence.

“Thank you, Ryder.”

“Welcome. But you dribbled on my sweater last night, so you owe me for that,” he said as they drove to the cafe. “But leave the rest now. It’s done, we’re good, and if my muffins want to rise and I want to keep my reputation as the best cake baker in town, I need to be in a good mood.”

“You think it matters?” She ran with the change in conversation.

“Of course. Baking happy is way better than baking pissed off.”

“Okay, so I won’t say anything, then. I’ll find somewhere to stay during my lunch break, Ryder.”

“But not in your car, and be honest if you can’t find anything. You think I was angry last night? You should see my uncle, who is the chief of police, when he’s riled, and he will be if he hears you tried that again.”

“How does he know?” Libby asked.

“He rang me about the bikers and asked where you were staying. I had to tell him.”

She nodded. “I’m not sure why everyone is so concerned about me when they don’t know me, but I will find somewhere else to sleep and not in my car,” she promised.

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