Page 49 of Jett

RAINE

JETT PARKS IN FRONTof my new apartment building and I slide off the bike and stumble. He reaches out and grabs my good arm, saving me from toppling.Yeesh. I’m such a lightweight. I only had two wines with dinner.

“Careful there, kitten.”

“Kitten?” I giggle. “I am not a kitten.”

“No, you’re more of an angel.”

“Says the man who beat up my old employer, gave me a job, and let me move into his big fancy apartment.”

He shrugs and flips the kickstand down before climbing off the bike. He slips his hand in mine, his big palm warm as it engulfs my own. I stare down at our joined hands and try to ignore the butterflies in my belly as we walk toward the building’s main entrance.

“Well, the place was just sitting here empty.”

“That doesn’t make you any less my guardian angel.” I extricate my hand from his as I fish in my purse for my keys. The second I locate them, Jett takes them from me—and thank God, because I did not relish the idea of making an even bigger fool of myself. Stumbling off a motorbike is one thing, but being so incapacitated that I can’t even get the door open? He’d never let me live it down.

He unlocks the door and opens it, gesturing for me to go first. We get in the elevator, and the doors are just about to close when the little old lady in the apartment beside mine slides her cane between them and halts our progress.

Earlier, she and her English Bulldog, Winston, brought a plate of cookies over as the boys were moving boxes. I didn’t even have time to set them on the kitchen counter before they were devoured.

“Hello, dear,” she says.

“Hello, Mrs Robinson. How is Winston doing?”

“He’s fine, dear, just fine.”

Her shrewd gaze rolls over Jett as she enters the elevator. The furrowed brow indicates she’s not too pleased with what she sees. Jett leans forward and presses the button for the top floor.

Mrs Robinson nods her thanks. “And whom might you be?”

“I’m a concerned friend.”

Mrs Robinson’s mouth turns down in a frown. “Concerned?”

“I want to make sure Raine gets home safely.”

“Well, this is supposed to be one of the safest buildings in Waterloo.”

“Oh, I know,” Jett says. “That’s why I bought the apartment.”

Why do I suddenly feel like a thirteen-year-old coming home late from a date?

The elevator comes to a stop and the doors open with a cheeryding.

Jett motions for my nosy neighbour to go first and we wait in silence as she shuffles out.

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