Mark sat in his truck in the large circular drive in front of the Crandall home, where he’d attended birthday parties and raided the fridge and taken prom pictures, and he was shaking like a cat on a telephone pole.
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered, and started the ignition. Before he could back up, a car pulled in next to him. He glanced over and saw Riley Madigan get out of the car and stare at the big house. He shifted into park.
She brushed her dark hair back with her fingers. It rested on her shoulders, reflecting the light from the house like silk threads. She popped her trunk and walked to the back of her car. Mark pulled the key out of the ignition. His truck stilled.
What was he doing? What did he think he could do?
His fingers found the door handle, and he climbed out, pulling his jacket hood up higher.
“Oh!”
He turned and jerked back. Riley was directly behind him, her hand over her chest.
“You scared me half to death,” she said breathlessly.
He looked away, down, at the truck, shrinking into his hood.
She put a hand on his arm, and he stilled. “No, I didn’t mean . . . I meant I’d grabbed my scarf and wasn’t watching where I was going.” She held up a green scarf the color of her eyes.
He peered at her. She had freckles. He hadn’t noticed before.
“I thought you weren’t coming,” she said as she wrapped the scarf around her neck.
How had she known that? Then he remembered. The bakery.
“I’m still not sure if I’m going in,” he said, finding his voice.
“Neither am I.” She looked up at the sky. “It’s a beautiful night, though.” She shivered in her vest jacket.
“You’re cold.”
“I didn’t want to be stuck wearing a heavier coat if the bonfire was too warm.” She rubbed her arms with her hands. “California spoils a body. I should be fine though. Reminds me of—” She stopped herself.
“Of what?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Of home, I guess.”
He wasn’t sure what to say. Should he offer her his jacket? Ask her about California? Was that her home?
“I wanted to tell you,” she said, saving him from the silence, “that I’m sorry I was so quick to judge you the other night. I think I was wrong.”
“You’re sure about that?” he asked.
The corner of her mouth lifted. “Well, I can’t be absolutely sure.”
“So now you’re being cautious?”
“I’m always cautious.”
He looked down, toeing the ground. “Except when you’ve got a baseball bat in your hands.”
“Caution shows itself in many forms.”
He peeked up at her. She was watching him, studying him again.
“I get it,” he said. “Why you thought I was . . . you know.”
“No, you don’t,” she said, lifting her chin. “I’ve been in scary situations before. I’ve been followed by men in the dark—”
“Aw, man. I’m sorry.” Regret surged through him.
“No, it’s okay. I mean it wasn’t okay. But you never know . . .” She trailed off. “So, I’m careful.”
“And I’m an idiot,” he said.
She laughed quietly, then stuck out her hand. “I’m Riley Madigan. I teach at the high school. But you knew that.”
He hesitated, then placed his hand in hers. “Mark Rivers. Stalker extraordinaire.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Mark.”
He looked down at their hands, and her gaze followed. He wore his sleeve, but the mottled skin and scarring on his fingers was visible, ragged, and he fought the urge to yank his hand away.
“Is this okay?” she asked. “It doesn’t hurt, does it?”
Her questions somehow eased his anxiety. He shook his head. “A lot of it’s numb, actually. I can’t feel much here or here”—he showed her the places on the back of his hand and fingers—“except for some pressure.” He lifted her hand and opened it in his left. “But I can feel this.” He ran his right fingertips over her palm. It was soft, smooth, and warm.
He glanced at her, and she caught his gaze. Neither of them moved.
He lowered her hand, letting it go. She blinked, looking back up at the house. He put his hands in his pockets, still feeling the silk of her skin on his fingertips.
“Everyone’s getting ready for the holidays,” he said lamely. The Crandalls had put up their usual display of colored lights and a big star above the front door. This year they’d added an inflatable snowman—slightly out of place on the leaf-strewn lawn. The little snow they’d had hadn’t stayed.
“Does everyone put up their Christmas lights so early?” she asked. “We just had Halloween.”
“You don’t like Christmas?” he asked.
She drew her gaze from the house. “I like it in December.”
He nodded. “It gets cold here pretty fast after Halloween. Weather can be unpredictable so close to the mountains. Most people get their decorations up before it freezes.”
“Oh. I was beginning to think you all were Christmas zealots.”
“I never said we weren’t.”
She smiled slowly, and he had to look away, glad the thump of his heart couldn’t show through his jacket.
He kicked his toe at the ground, considering the topic of Christmas. “I wanted to ask you something,” he said. He took a deep breath. “I was wondering—”
“There you are.” Dalton Gainer came striding down the lawn. From the goofy grin on Dalton’s face, Mark guessed he wasn’t talking to him. He met them at the drive, eyes on Riley. “Were you coming up? I’ve been waiting.”
“Of course,” Riley said. “Mark was about to ask me something.”
“Hey, how’s our hometown hero?”
Mark kept his face partially hidden. “Great. You?” Dalton was a few years older than he was and had made high school All-American in their division in football and State in track. Mark had idolized the guy, then had shattered all his records. Dalton had never liked that.
“Perfect,” Dalton answered, displaying white teeth. He refocused on Riley. “Are you cold? Here.” He pulled off his leather jacket and put it around her shoulders. “You’re not in LA anymore.”
Riley shrugged under the weight of the jacket. “Thanks. I’m sure it will be warm closer to the bonfire.”
“People are
