Page 16 of Here & There

“I swear. It was a failed birthday party for my sixty-year-old mom.”

I think I see him relax slightly. Hard to tell because he keeps frowning so hard.

“Your name would be good,” he says after a moment. “In case anyone comes looking for you.”

“Right.” I stick my hand out. “My name is?—”

But before he can even respond, the shrill sound of a landline shatters the quiet of the kitchen.

Mac frowns. “Excuse me.” He crosses over to the far side of the kitchen, by the door, and picks up an old-fashioned phone mounted on the wall. “Dinghy.”

A pause. “Hi, Fred.”

Fred…why is that name familiar? Fred…

But my eyes drop to his hand, holding the phone. God, even the way he holds just the bottom of the clunky old receiver is hot; one thick finger stretched up the handle. His finger is huge. I wonder what it would feel like?—

I look away fast to cut off my own thoughts. I feel my cheeks flame, a little pulse warming between my legs.

How am I thinking aboutthatright now? Maybe because Richard and I haven’t spent the night together in weeks. Whenever we do these days, it’s perfunctory at best. Maybe that’s what I’m missing. Maybe if I’d broken up with Richard earlier, I could have had a little fling. Avoided this little breakdown altogether.

My skin burns, and when I look up, Mac’s eyes are on mine. How is it I can feel him looking at me?

“At the station?” he says into the phone.

Oh shit. Suddenly, I remember. That super grumpy old guy outside…he said he was calling Fred.

“Bryony? They’re looking for a Bryony Jones?”

Fred’s the police chief. Someone’s at the station.

I jump off the stool and run over to Mac.

“Who is it?” I whisper, even though I know exactly who it is.

“No problem,” Mac says. “You can tell them their daughter is right here in my kitchen.”

Chapter 4

Bryony

Oh God.

All the newfound lightness I felt at being here vanishes, replaced with a tight, hard, angry knot in my stomach. It’s panic, fringed with anger. My parents are here. And this man just told them exactly where to find me.

“Yup, see you soon.” Mac hangs up the phone.

I grab his arm. “Why did you do that?”

Mac looks down at my hand on his forearm. It’s warm under my hand, the ropy muscles of his forearms a contrast to the soft hair. But I hardly notice. I’m gripping it tight enough my fingers make indentations.

“Your parents are looking for you. You’re here. Bryony.”

I’m upset enough that I hardly notice the way Mac’s thick eyebrow quirks, how he draws my name out.

I drop his arm. “How far is the station from here?”

“About a five-minute drive. Ten if you include walking to the car, getting in, putting on seat belts…”

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