Page 26 of Two Risks I'd Never Take Again

I welcomed the small break. Talking had made rubbing the cream on him less awkward this time, but talking about what happened made me want to hug him. I shouldn’t want to hug him. But friends hugged.

When I walked back out, he had on his sweatpants and was pulling a shirt over his head. “Hey. Come here.” He rested his hands on my hips when I moved in front of him. “A woman hired me to investigate her husband. She wanted proof that he was cheating, and she told me where I could expect to find him.”

Anger burned in my chest. “He was a cheater. Figures.”

“I don’t think he was. I think I got played. He grabbed me seconds after I stepped out of my truck, and when he and his buddy were driving me out to his house, the man ranted about stalking his wife and laying my hands on her.”

Being as gentle as I could, I wrapped my arms around him.

He pulled me closer. “I can’t blame the man for protecting his wife. I’d be angry too if I thought someone I loved was in danger.”

“You wouldn’t beat someone to a pulp and leave them on a dark road. OnThanksgiving.”

“Maybe not. But I was set up. I just can’t figure out why.” He rested his head on my shoulder. “That’s why I didn’t press charges.”

“I want to hire you.”

Garrett pulled back with his eyebrows lifted. “I’m currently not taking new cases.”

“Well, when you do, after your hands heal, I want you to investigate something for me. I’ll pay your regular rate.” I stepped back. “I need to bandage your hand and put the brace back on.”

He caught my hand. “That can wait a second. What’s the case?”

“Be careful with your hand.” I wasn’t brave enough to look at him while I spoke, so I focused on his neck where it curved and disappeared under his collar. It was a nice spot, one of only a few without bruises. “Some woman, who I would be perfectly happy leaving on the side of a dark road—that’s not true. I’d feel guilty about that—anyway, she hurt someone I care about, a friend, and I want to know why,andI want her to get what’s coming to her.”

Garrett brushed his thumb against my cheek. “That’s very sweet.”

“She can’t get away with this.” I looked down at his scraped and bruised hand. “She can’t.”

His thumb grazed the tops of my knuckles. “Let’s get those bandages on so you can make my doughnuts.”

“How about some homemade bacon mac and cheese for lunch? I’ll make that first, then tackle the doughnuts.”

“Sounds good.”

I wasn’t dense enough not to realize that despite my frequent pep talks I’d developed feelings for Garrett. Which was silly because I’d spent less than forty-eight hours with him. With this realization, my plan changed from trying not to develop feelings—that train had left the station—to not acting on those feelings.

I needed to figure out what was acceptable in the friend zone because I was pretty sure we’d spent most of the morning outside the zone, pretending we were in the zone.

I rolledout the dough and picked up my doughnut cutter. Making him doughnuts had been on my agenda for this week, and I’d come prepared. “Tell me about where you grew up. About your family”

“On one condition.”

“You’re putting conditions on our friendship?” I grinned as I transferred perfect circles to the tray.

“I want to make sure it’s a two-way street.” He pulled the bag of peas away from his face for a second. “I want to hear your story next.”

“It’s nothing exciting, but I’ll tell you.” Once the tray was full, I tested the oil to make sure it was up to temp. “Are you talking about growing up or... other stuff?”

“Whatever you are willing to share.”

I nodded as I dropped the first few doughnuts into the oil. What I was willing to share changed by the minute. Not because of anything Garrett said or did, but because of my level of courage and coherent thought.

He pressed the peas to his face. “I grew up next door to my grandparents. My mom was a little too attached to her family, and that’s why I grew up without a dad. But that’s a story for another time. For me, living beside my grandparents was a good thing. My grandma was like Ava. After school, I’d go to her house, and she’d have cookies and milk waiting for me. When I was in high school, my mom remarried. After that, I spent countless hours at my grandparents’ house or fishing with my granddad. My stepdad wasn’t horrible; he just made me feel like I was in the way.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “When I graduated from high school, I left for college and never moved back home. On holidays, I’d stay with my grandparents, which infuriated my mom the first time. I feel a little bad about that now. But I stayed where I felt the most welcome.”

---