Show Me the Way (Fight for Me #1)(7)

There’d been something about our encounter this morning that had left me unsettled. Something about that gorgeous stranger that had left me restless and curious.

Interest piqued.

The man was a paradox.

Hard and brittle and cold.

Yet so incredibly gentle with the little girl, who’d clung to his hand as if he were the center of her world.

There seemed to be nothing I could do but edge toward the window, stealing to the side to remain out of sight.

I pulled back the edge of the curtain and peeked out.

Headlights cut into the night, and my stupid heart kicked an erratic beat. That intrigue increased my pulse to a thunder. I was riddled with that same fierce attraction I’d felt when I’d looked up earlier today to find him towering over me, the way my stomach had twisted and the nervousness that had followed me back to Gingham Lakes took a new form.

The headlights grew brighter, illuminating the space between our houses before the monstrous truck slowed and turned into the driveway across the street.

“Oh, oh, oh, tell me all about it. Someone sounds pouty . . . and turned on.”

“You know how my luck goes when it comes to men.” The scales were always tipped to bad. “You shouldn’t be surprised that my neighbor is like . . . gorgeous.”

Macy squealed. “How gorgeous?”

I watched as Rex hopped out of his truck and went straight for the backseat.

All six feet three inches of mouthwatering deliciousness lit up by the moonlight.

“Like Greek God with a sledgehammer gorgeous.”

I could hear her kicking her feet. “And how is this a bad thing?”

“I was pretty sure he would have preferred to drag me to the lake and drown me rather than tolerate my living across the street from them.”

“Them?”

“I met his daughter, too. At least she was super excited to meet me.”

I suppressed laughter as I thought of her rushing out of their house. The little girl had been a perfect kind of disaster in that hot pink tutu and those atrocious socks she had to have stolen from her dad.

She was a bluster of energy and innocence.

It was almost worry that entered Macy’s playful tone. “Oh God, tell me you’re not actually crushing on the married guy next door? That’s just poor form, Ryn.”

Through the milky, opalescent night, I watched as he pulled a sleeping Frankie from the backseat and shifted her so her head rested high up on his shoulder. He ran a hand over the back of her head and set a kiss to her temple.

The image was so at odds with the hostility he’d met me with earlier.

That intrigued attraction flared, my mouth dry as I watched him start up his walkway.

Maybe what struck me most was there was something sad about him, too. Something helpless and scared beneath all the harsh, hard dominance he wore so well. Something bitter and broken.

I found myself whispering when I came to the realization. “I’m thinking there’s no wife.”

“No wife . . . so . . . he’s like . . . a single dad?”

“Maybe,” I uttered so quietly as I peered through the night, drinking in the way his long legs took the steps, and then the way he angled through his front door with his sleeping little dancer girl. “I think so. I’m not sure.”

Why did I want to know so desperately?

“Why are you whispering?” Macy whispered back.

I bit down on my bottom lip while guilty silence spun around the room.

Macy busted up laughing. “Oh my God, you are spying on him right now, aren’t you?”

“Shut up,” I told her, quick to let the curtain drop. I got straight back to work unpacking.

“Someone has a crush,” she sing-songed.

“Stop it.”

I was so not spying, and I so didn’t have a crush.

I’d just met them, and the worst thing I could do was get mixed up with the angry guy across the street with his sweet, adorable little girl, who was a big fan of my grandmother. Apparently, she had really good taste.

But her dad? He obviously had some ginormous chip on his shoulder, and I had enough to worry about without giving thought to the flecks of sadness scored in the depths of his eyes.

Eyes the color of sage. Rimmed in the darkest gray.

No, I wasn’t thinking about those soft, full lips barely hidden by the sexy scruff on his strong jaw. And I definitely hadn’t noticed his big hands or the strength in his deeply tanned, muscled arms.

Nope.

Not at all.

A guy like that had heartache written all over him.

And I’d had enough of that to last me a lifetime.



The sound of a whisk clanging against metal echoed through the kitchen. With the bowl tucked under one arm, I cut butter into the flour in the other, giving myself over to the sense of deep peace that had taken me over.

The late night was like a warm blanket wrapped around the old house, holding me safe and secure, the vast silence a comfort as I slowly swayed in the kitchen.

I had the crumpled letter smoothed out on the counter beside me where I worked. Every so often, I would peek over at it, relishing in her presence. I had to have read it close to a million times since it’d slipped out with the file the attorney had given me two months ago. But I kept going back to it, wondering, why now?

Why hadn’t she asked this of me before?