Page 51 of Penalty Kiss
"Thank you," I tell her, meaning it completely. "For the warning and for protecting her."
"We take care of our own in Cedar Falls," Janet says, her voice carrying the steel of someone who's survived small-town politics for decades. "Always have, always will. But that man?" She shakes her head. "He doesn't belong here. Smelled like expensive cologne and bad intentions."
She bustles away, leaving us standing in the pasta aisle with a bag of cinnamon rolls and confirmation that Tara's past has officially caught up with her present.
"Looking for me by my alias." Tara's face has gone pale. "Offering money for information."
"Which means this isn't your father's usual surveillance team, or someone’s just trying to mess your head because the most recent photo was taken at the house."
She nods, and I can see her brilliant mind working through the implications.
"We need to finish shopping, get back to your place, put these development on the board, and build a plan," I tell her.
"What kind of plan?"
I kiss her temple, breathing in her scent, trying to calm the protective rage building in my chest.
"The kind where we figure out who's hunting you, turn it into a play we can control," I say quietly, "and make them stop."
Back at the cottage, I watch Tara put away groceries with the same efficient precision she used to select them. Every movement is economical, practiced— the muscle memory of someone who’s lived out of borrowed spaces too many times.
The thought makes something twist in my chest. She's been running for three years, never staying anywhere long enough to really settle. Never letting herself get attached.
Until Cedar Falls.
I do my part—organizing comes easy to me.
“So, it’sjustyour personality that’s chaotic.”
“Careful, Rookie…”
"You don't have to sleep on the couch, you know," she says suddenly, back to me as she arranges bell peppers in the crisper drawer.
I freeze, a carton of eggs halfway to the refrigerator. "Is that an invitation, Rookie?"
"No! I mean—" She turns, flustered. "I meant the guest room. I have a guest room."
"Ah." I resume my task, trying not to let disappointment show. "And here I thought you were finally succumbing to my irresistible charm."
"Your irresistible charm snores."
"I do not snore. I breathe with masculine authority."
She snorts, taking the eggs from me and placing them on the proper shelf. Our fingers brush, and that now-familiar spark jumps between us. Neither of us acknowledges it, but we both feel it—the pull getting stronger, harder to ignore.
Once everything's put away, I lean against the counter, watching her organize a drawer that doesn't need organizing. She's avoiding something. Or someone. Namely, me.
"Tara."
She looks up, guard halfway up. "Yes?"
"I need to ask you something, and I need you to be honest."
Her body tenses, bracing for impact. "Okay."
"How much am I forgetting?"
The question hangs between us, heavier than I intended. Her eyes soften with understanding.
