Page 25 of Found by the Pack
Sadie’s eyes narrow slightly. “Cool.”
She’s closed off again. I can feel it, the way her body pulls in on itself, chin tilting up, shoulders going rigid.
I glance at the nearly empty can of Diet Coke on the bench beside her.
“Let me get you lunch?” I offer. “My treat. I feel bad.”
She opens her mouth to protest, but I shake the can lightly.
“Come on. I owe you one.”
A pause.
Then she nods. Barely.
I take that as a win.
The restaurant around the corner is small—more of a diner, really—but the food’s solid. I order two sandwiches and bring them back in a brown paper bag, warm with grease.
Please still be here, I pray.
She is. Thank fuck.
I hand her the bag and sit on the opposite side of the bench.
Our hands brush. It’s nothing, a second of skin on skin. But damn.
She smells freaking fantastic.
“Thanks,” she murmurs, digging into the bag.
“No problem.”
I let her eat in peace. Watch the way her fingers move. Her nails are short, smudged faintly with charcoal. Her boots are beat up, and her dress looks expensive but lived-in. She’s not from here. That much is obvious.
“So,” I say finally, “how’s the mural planning going?”
She swallows, then nods. “It’s fine. Still figuring out what I want each wall to say.”
“That makes sense.”
A beat.
She looks at me again. Really looks. “Why are you being nice to me?”
I blink. “What?”
“You don’t even know me.”
“I—” I pause.
How the hell do I answer that?
“Because I want to,” I say finally. “Because you’re new in town and I figured you wouldn’t hate a friendly face.”
Her shoulders loosen slightly. She looks away, then back at me. “Well. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” I stand. “I should get back. Duty calls.”
