Page 27 of Penalty Kiss
Someone lets out a startled gasp. Another woman mutters, “Lord help us,” but her tone’s more swoon than warning.
"Yes, I'm on medical leave. But that means I've got nothing but time. When she's at work, I can be there. When she leaves, I'm her shadow." I let my gaze sweep the room, making sure everyone understands exactly what I'm promising.
"The only person who should be worried about my concussion is the coward who touched her."
I watch Tara—she’s staring at me like she wants to drag me out of here by my collar—to shut me up.
And judging by the heat in the room, half of them would gladly hold the door… so we could leave and make out.
Then a chair squeaks, a firefighter clears his throat.
“Wilder’s right,” the hero says, nodding solemnly. “He can at least intimate—” He winces. “Sorry, I meanintimidate.”
The women laugh, shameless, openly staring like they’re picturing me shirtless with a shotgun. I’m not sure if I want to growl or grin.
Tara sits rigid beside me, lips pressed into a tight line, color high on her cheeks. She’s cornered by kindness. Cornered by me.
An older man wearing a ‘Cedar Crest Customs’ T-shirt stands up to speak. "Tara, that cottage of yours is isolated. All we're saying is, it wouldn't hurt to have a six-foot-four hockey player drinking coffee on your porch for a few days. Send a message."
"A message that I'm living with a man I barely know?" Tara counters, her voice rising slightly.
“No… a message that you’re not alone. And Cam Wilder could chase off a stalker just by standing there breathing.” Someone volunteers from the crowd.
“Breathing? That chest alone is a security system.”
“If that man stands guard on my porch, I’d leave him cookies.”
“Cookies? I’d leave him a key.”
The discussion is veering off the rails again. Tara’s cheeks flame hotter. My pulse hammers at my throat.
I lean back in my chair, let them look, let them weigh. Because the truth is—I don’t mind being their damn security system if it keeps her safe.
The room hums with an unstoppable wave of small-town strategy.
“My nephew’s got binoculars—he’ll loan them.”
“Binoculars? Please. My sister’s got a drone.”
Tara’s head swivels, caught between gratitude and horror.
“This is not happening,” she hisses, sharp enough for me but polite enough for them. “He’s not moving into my house.”
I watch Lily reaching over to touch Tara's arm. She's been quiet through most of this, but when she speaks, people listen. "We’re just making sure you're not alone."
Mrs. Henderson's eyes light up with the dangerous gleam of someone who's just had a brilliant idea. "Speaking of not being alone—let’s start the Casserole Watch."
The room perks up with interest.
"Every family with a casserole dish gets a designated two-hour surveillance window," she explains with military precision. "We'll have eyes on Tara's street from dawn to dusk. If anyone sees a strange suit, the code phrase is 'the pot roast is dry.' It's foolproof."
I bite back a laugh. Leave it to Cedar Falls to turn neighborhood watch into a potluck operation.
Tara groans into her mug. When she finally looks at me, her eyes are blazing. I hold her gaze, steady, letting her see I’m not backing off.
Then the room quiets, waiting for her.
She exhales, sharp and short. “Everyone, easy there. I concede. Couch. A couple of days. That’s it.”
