Blood.
There’s a rip in his denim. A shard of ceramic embedded just below his kneecap, bristling hair and swarthy skin showing past the torn, blood-soaked fabric.
Dear God.
And he’s just standing there looking at me curiously like he doesn’t feel it.
“Um.” I stare at his leg. “Do you need a doctor?”
“Huh?” He looks down, blinking, then frowns and bends to pluck the shard out like it’s nothing but a pesky mosquito.
I have to look away, wincing.
But when I turn back, he’s dropping the bloodied shard on the ground and peeling back the ripped denim to get a better look at the pinkish gash in his flesh.
“Nah. Looks worse than it is. Nicked an artery, I guess, so that’s why it’s bleeding like a faucet. I hardly feel it,” he growls warmly.
I squint at him. “You sure you’re not just doing the man thing?”
He surprises me with a hearty, booming laugh, deep and rolling like all the walls of my heart collapsing in a tumble of boulders.
Crap.
Crap.
Also, crap.
I’m not supposed to be noticing how handsome he is.
I still value my life, after all.
“I’m fine. I promise,” he says. Those mahogany eyes sizzle, and he looks at me like he already knows me and cares that I might be worried about him. “You don’t have a personal injury lawsuit on your hands, Miss...it’s Felicity, right?”
“Um. Yes. But no! That’s not what I’m worried about. I just...would you at least let me clean that up so you don’t get an infection?” I gesture faintly to the corridor in the back, leading to my office. “I’ve got a first aid kit back there. We can talk about the damages, too.”
He considers me thoughtfully, then nods with an amused rumble. “On one condition.”
“What’s that?” My eyebrows lift.
“You tell this one where he’ll find the broom closet.” He jerks a thumb at Eli.
“Hey!” Eli thrusts his lower lip out. “Dad!”
“No Dad,” Alaska says, even if the twitch of his lip says he’s trying not to laugh. “You sweep. I go let the pretty lady bandage me up and bail your butt out. That’s the deal.”
Nope.
I’m not blushing because he called me pretty lady.
Not at all.
Though I’m definitely glad for the excuse to jet as I duck into the back and grab a broom and industrial-sized dustpan, then march them back out for Eli.
“Careful,” I say. “It’s almost taller than you.”
He sticks his tongue out playfully. “Dad says I’m in my growth phase. I’m only twelve. I’ll get bigger.”
“Dad says less trying to be cute to avoid work, and more sweeping, boy.” Alaska ruffles his son’s hair with clear affection, making Eli grin before tossing his head my way. “C’mon. Let’s talk and maybe after I’ll grab a drink. I hear the owner makes a pretty good cold brew.”
“Sure brew!” I chirp. “Sure do, I mean. Uh, you knew that.”
When did I get so tongue-tied? And where’s my awkward turtle trophy?
Okay. Right. My office.
It’s just a few minutes.
It’s just being stuck in a teeny, enclosed space with the man I’ve crushed on since last year.
The same man who’s suddenly making my palms so sweaty they’ll probably slip on something.
I’ve got this.
I’ve got it.
At least I’ve got my regularly scheduled disaster out of the way, though.
So why do I still have this tight dread in my chest that tells me there’s something even worse on the way?
Even with the music flowing, I feel like everyone in the café watches as Alaska and I head into my office.
Peace moving into her next song doesn’t distract much from the bedlam that just went down. The Nest is half emptied out.
Then again, I’m pretty sure a few of the death glares are from the single lady squad. They’re here in force tonight, putting aside their bitter feelings for me because Peace’s concerts make the perfect atmosphere to meet men.
Love matches by app don’t come easy in small-town Montana.
But part of me worries they’re staring for a darker reason.
Those crappy old rumors.
Even if I’ve never done anything to deserve them, my dad did plenty to taint our family.
And I guess some folks are inclined to think like father, like daughter.
Bad tree. Bad seed. You know the rest.
I mean, considering everyone used to think I was sleeping with a dude for cash before he, um, went and got himself killed...escaping unkind words behind your back takes time.
Some of those whispers hissing across the shop are probably ugly.
About how they think I’ll settle accounts with Alaska behind closed doors, sans the clothing.
It’s less his dark-brown eyes and more the sheer mortification of what people think that makes my face burn as I step into my small, cluttered office. He’s quiet, and I wonder if he can hear them muttering about what a skank they think I am.
Has he heard the rumors already, despite being a newcomer?
Is Alaska wondering about me, too, and trying to figure out how to fend off a rabid, horny mess of a woman?
I avoid looking at him as I round my paper-stacked desk and drag the bottom drawer open to rummage under piles of stuff. Seriously, it’s as bottomless as a granny’s purse, and I tip out three Sweeter Things candy sampler bags before I even get halfway through.
Presto. I finally stagger across the first aid kit buried at the bottom.
There’s only one chair, and as I straighten, I push it around the side of the desk.
“You can sit h—”
I lift my head as I speak—and freeze.
He’s already sitting on the edge of the desk, his good leg propped up and his injured leg extended.
He watches me steadily, like he can see right through me, and my heart gives one of those sharp little lurches again.
I’ve never known a man who can just look at a girl and make her feel completely naked, and I don’t mean the dirty way.
It’s this frankness, this warmth, this curiosity shining in his eyes.
He makes me feel transparent, like he sees all the odd bits of me floating to the surface with every look.
And apparently, he’s just as perceptive as those piercing eyes hint.
Because when I lower my eyes and drag the chair over for myself, he doesn’t even give me a chance to flip the kit open before he says, ever-so-gently, “You’re upset.”
I wince, pushing open the lid and fishing around inside until I come up with an antiseptic pad and rip the top off the packet.
“I’m fine, really.”
“I’m sorry about my son. I promise you, no matter the damage, I’ll cover it. I’m good for the money, Miss Felicity,” he tells me.
“No, that’s not—” I pause, biting my lip so I can focus on pulling the ripped shreds of denim aside so I can see his cut better.
Nothing like a little blood to clear a girl’s head. I take a deep breath as I carefully swab his rough skin.
“Look,” I say. “You’re pretty new to Heart’s Edge, right? But I guess you’ve been around long enough to hear the rumors.”