Page 60 of The Weight Of Falling
He glances over his shoulder. “Wait here,” he instructs me calmly. “I want to check the house.”
Understanding clicks into place, and my mouth drops open. “Is that why you offered to help with the groceries?”
“Partly,” he admits without apology.
“Seriously, you don’t need to search my house,” I protest. “It was probably just a prank. Like Owen said.”
“Maybe,” he concedes. “But for my own peace of mind, let me take a quick look around. Just to be sure.” His tone is gruff, but his eyes are gentle. “Please.”
I hesitate, then sigh. The part of me that hates being a bother wants to tell him he’s overreacting, but the rest of me is still a little shaken and craves the reassurance a simple check might bring. “Okay. But only because you saidplease,” I add under my breath.
I wait in the entryway while he sets the grocery bags down in the kitchen, then disappears down the hall. I hear him move methodically from room to room. My cottage is small—two bedrooms, one bathroom—so it shouldn’t take long. I wonder what it says about me that I’m more worried about the pile of clothes on my bed and the jumble of cosmetics on my dresser than I am about an intruder hiding in my house.
Joel returns a few minutes later. “It’s fine,” he says simply, reaching for one of the bags in my arms. “You can come in now.”
I follow him into the kitchen, my throat tightening unexpectedly at his quiet protectiveness. I can’t remember the last time someone looked out for me like that. Certainly not Bobby, who once made me feel like I was too much for simply voicing out loud my anxiety in certain social situations.
Joel is silent as he begins unpacking the grocery bags, placing each item on the counter. I move around the kitchen putting everything away. We’re unpacking the groceries like we’ve done it a hundred times before.
“Coffee?” I offer when we’re finished.
He shakes his head. “I better get going.”
I nod, forcing lightness into my voice. “Well, thank you again for making sure there wasn’t anyone hiding behind my shower curtain.”
He leans against the kitchen island and gives me a frustrated, troubled look. “It bothers me that you’re not taking this seriously enough.”
“I am,” I assure him. “It’s just... If I make a joke out of it, then it doesn’t freak me out as much. You know?”
His expression softens. “I know.” His eyes search mine. “Are you holding up okay?”
I draw in a breath. “It’s strange, it’s just a word, and maybe it wasn’t even directed at me, but I feel off-balance and...exposed, like something’s been taken from me.”
His jaw tightens. “I hate that this happened to you.” There’s something raw behind his eyes. Something that looks a lot like guilt. But that doesn’t make sense. Why would he feel responsible?
I lower my gaze. “I’ve never been called that before.”
Joel is quiet for a moment. “Do you think Bobby could have done it?”
“Bobby?” I look up and let out a surprised laugh, but it dies quickly when I glimpse how serious Joel is. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m very serious.”
I shake my head. “Bobby wouldn’t do something like that. It’s not his style.”
“How well do you know him?”
“Well enough,” I say quickly. “He can be thoughtless and impulsive sometimes, but this? It’s not him.”
His tight lips says he’s unconvinced.
My eyes widen. “You’re going to tell Owen about your suspicions, aren’t you?”
“Why ask if you’re not going to like my answer?”
“Joel, no,” I plead. “If Bobby gets questioned, he’ll be angry.”
Joel raises his eyebrows. “Will he now?”
