Page 53 of No More Secrets

Zea greets him with a smile that comes across as phony, and his nape crackles with the unease he’s feeling. “Nice to meet you,” she greets,wearing the same skin-hugging jeans and boots she had on yesterday. Different shirt. This one’s short sleeved, and the tattoo on her forearm he hadn’t noticed yesterday, same place as his tattoo, is clearly visible. The urge to move closer and read the script keeps him rooted to his spot, as do his suspicions. He tells himself he doesn’t care what poetic passage has meaning to her. She isn’t hanging around for long, not with a by-the-day rent. That in and of itself is sending him into a quiet panic, until he recalls that he, too, hadn’t intended to remain here this long. But her skin. It glows underneath the dewdrops of reddish-brown freckles spilling across her nose. His fingertips tingle with his desire to touch that skin.

Whoa.Where is this coming from.

He grunts a welcome, unnerved by the push-pull urge he feels around her. It’s confusing. He wants to fervidly plan what he should do—stay or go?—while at the same time he wants to know more about her. Conflicted, he decides to do neither and looks at Ivy. “Start in the bedroom?”

“Do you want fans in this room and yours?” Ivy checks with Zea.

“That would be great.” Zea smiles, her gaze never leaving his. He wonders what she wants from him. Anything? Could he be reading too much into this?

Lucas breaks eye contact first and retreats to the bedroom with his toolbox and ladder. He sets them down and returns downstairs to retrieve the boxed ceiling fans he’d picked up the other day. As he works, he hears Ivy and Zea conversing in the front room until Ivy leaves for the market. He’s just removed the ceiling-light fixture when he senses Zea in the doorway. He feels her watching him, which sends his nerves firing off again, and peeks at her from under his arm as he unscrews the light-fixture plate. She’s leaning against the doorframe, an arm loosely casual along her side. He tells himself he can do casual, too. “Can I help you?” His tone is even. His heart is banging in his ear like a repeatedly slamming door.

She smiles, and this one appears genuine. “Ivy tells me you’re the guy to call if I need anything repaired.”

“Yep.” He removes the plate, exposing the electrical wires, and steps down from the ladder. Squatting, he slices through the packing tape with a box cutter and starts removing ceiling-fan parts.

“She thinks very highly of you.”

“She thinks highly of everyone.” He climbs back up the ladder.

She chews her thumbnail and inspects the cuticle. “Who’s the girl I saw you with yesterday? Is she your daughter?”

His nape tingles again, but he keeps his tone level. “Niece.”

“She staying with you?”

“Yep.” He hooks the fan up to the electrical.

“For how long?”

He glances at her. “You ask a lot of questions.” Ones he doesn’t care to answer. Her presence makes him nervous, but her interest in Shiloh isn’t sitting right with him. That sets him on edge.

“Sorry. Just trying to be neighborly. I’m new around here.” She looks at him expectantly as if she wants him to ask where she’s from or tell her about him. Even though he wants to know more about her, he doesn’t bite. With a grunt, he returns his focus to work.

“She makes a good sandwich,” Zea says after a moment. “She’s what, fourteen?”

“Fifteen.” He folds the ladder when he finishes and packs up the toolbox, dumps the old light fixture in the empty cardboard box, then moves on to the next room.

Zea follows. “Does she go to school here?”

“She’s taking a break.” He unpacks the next ceiling fan.

“Is that a thing now?”

“She’s on suspension,” he says flatly, staying consistent with the story they told Ivy last night.

“Ah,” Zea says after a brief pause when she realizes he isn’t going to elaborate. “Well, I’ll leave you be.” She retreats into the kitchen, where she scrolls through her phone.

Lucas pushes out a long breath. He can be chill. Just act normally. He keeps telling himself if she was here for him, she would have acted on it by now. He’s just on high alert and excessively suspicious because he’s always looking over his shoulder. He reasons Zea’s just an ordinary woman looking to make conversation, and returns his focus on the install. Every now and then, he feels her eyes on him, and does his best to ignore her. When he finishes, he packs up his tools and wipes the sweat off his neck with a stained rag.

“All done?” Zea asks, joining him in the front room.

“Yep.” He retreats when she moves into his space. They’re almost eye to eye, and she studies him curiously.

“You don’t talk much.”

“Nope.” He folds the ladder and looks around. “You don’t have any furniture.”

“Is that a problem?”

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