He sat down across from me, and I gave him a look. “Where’s your bowl?”
“I don’t need one, Rae.”
I nodded. “You ate already?”
He turned his head a touch and sighed.
“So that’s a no.”
“Raegan—”
“Clint, whatever you want to talk to me about, I’m not doing it if you haven’t eaten. You’re known for flying off the handle on an empty stomach.”
He stared at me for a long moment before he stood up and came back with a bowl of soup for himself.
He took his sweet time stirring and crumbling crackers into it before he asked, “How are you tied up in this shit?”
Even though I should’ve seen the question coming, it took me by surprise.
“I don’t know! Because I’m Bronwyn’s sister?”
I was exasperated, not only because I had no answers, but because that wasn’t my first question. Who cared how I was tied up in this? I cared about why there was anything to be tied up in to begin with! Wynnie wouldn’t hurt a flea!
When he finished his soup, Clint dug into his pocket for his keys.
Mom stood up, saying, “Spend the night.”
Her firm tone surprised me. Then she whispered, “Please.”
I opened my mouth to say Clint didn’t need to do that, but Mom shook her head. “I can’t... ” She leaned on the table.
Clint’s arm darted out to keep me from moving to Mom. “I’ll stay, Penny. Don’t worry. I know what you can’t do and where your mind is right now. I’ll be right out here, in the living room, so nothing happens to either one of you.”
Mom nodded, whispered her thanks, and shuffled off to her room.
When she was out of earshot, I said, “You can stay in Bronwyn’s room—”
His voice cut me off like a knife. “No. This house has a split floorplan. I camp out on the sofa, I can hear anyone come in from the back or the front. If I’m in your sister’s room, I won’t hear entry from the back until it’s too damn late.”
I sighed because I didn’t like it. “Well, thank you. After I do the dishes, I’ll get you pillows and linens.”
He shook his head. “When I’m done with dishes, Rae. You’re not standing at the sink when there’s a chance you might have a concussion.”
I narrowed my eyes. “If there were a chance of that, the EMTs would’ve taken me in for a CAT scan.”
He grimaced. “You refused after their recommendation. Signed the paperwork and everything, sweetheart.”
I sighed, knowing he was right.
He took Mom’s dish to the sink along with his own. I finished my soup and took my bowl to the sink.
Clint took it from me while jerking his head toward the hallway. “Go change, Rae.”
When I came back, Clint sat on the couch taking off his boots. I left the linens on the end of the couch with a new toothbrush in its package on top. Then I quietly went to my room. Part of me wanted to sit and chat with him, but I knew that wasn’t in the cards.
It couldn’t be.
Five days ago, he had expected me to be back in New York City. Maybe I should have been. But then what would’ve happened? Would someone have attacked Mom instead? Would the detective have simply informed her over the phone that Wynnie’s death was ruled accidental?
No. What happened happened, and I couldn’t analyze it any further. Besides, it had been a long day and I was exhausted. In the bathroom, I made short work of putting on my pajamas and doing my nighttime routine. After I turned out my light, I heard Clint moving in the bathroom, taking care of his own business.
I rolled over, willing myself not to think about him being under the same roof with me, but not in the same bed.
MY EYES OPENED, AND I knew it was the middle of the night. As exhausted as I was, I should’ve slept straight through to morning, but my body had always been contrary that way.
I turned over and tried to get some more sleep, but it didn’t work. After five more minutes, I got up and made my way to the kitchen as silently as I could.
There was a pot-light over the kitchen sink, and Clint had left it on for some reason. The low-wattage bulb gave off enough light I could watch Clint sleeping. He had the blanket at his waist, and still wore his undershirt. I spied his jeans folded on top of his boots, so my hunch was he wore his boxers beneath the blanket. My assessment of him when he first barged in the kitchen so many days ago was right. He had bulked up through his arms, but I didn’t notice how much his chest had filled out. I forced myself to tiptoe into the kitchen because watching him sleep any longer put me into creeper territory.
Mom always left a kettle on the stove. I filled it as quietly as I could before setting it to boil. While I waited, I grabbed a box of herbal tea and a teacup.
The kettle started to make the low hissing sound of the water heating when Clint shuffled into the kitchen. His boxers were patterned with the Boston College logo. My eyes skated down his muscular legs to his bare feet. Call me crazy, but I loved seeing him barefoot. Seemed any part of him attracted me, so I focused on my tea.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” I whispered.
“You got enough water for another cup?”
My brows furrowed. “Yes, but I’m making herbal tea.”
He shrugged. “I’ll give it try.”
By the time I grabbed a cup ready for Clint, the water was boiling. I dunked both teabags. Before I could grab Clint’s cup, his heat hit my back and he took
