Until You (The Redemption, #1)(15)

“It does. I get it. Same feel but the town has grown up some. Right?”

“Exactly.”

There’s a noise behind us, and we both turn and get a glimpse of the curtain swaying and a nose print against the glass.

“Scheming again,” he says.

I stand as he does. “Scheming and adorable. That should be an illegal combination.”

“More like it’s going to be the death of me combination.”

“You’d still enjoy every minute of it.”

“True.” Giggling is heard behind the curtain, and Crew just shakes his head. “How about you go upstairs and get your pjs on.”

His words are met with exaggerated and unmistakable groans.

I smile. “It’s been an unexpected evening, but I should let you get back to your original plans. Besides, I have a looming deadline,” I say, wondering why I feel the need to have a reason to leave.

“Pesky deadlines.”

“Something like that,” I murmur as we stand a few feet apart, eyes held but saying nothing.

“Here, let me walk you home.” He sets down his glass.

“That’s not necessary. Really. It’s not far.”

“But it’s dark.”

“There’s moonlight, and it’s not like I don’t know the way by heart.” I take one step down the stairs.

“You sure?” He doesn’t sound too convinced.

It’s chivalrous and sweet of him to be concerned on my behalf, but it’s unnecessary. I’ve faced much worse things than the night.

“I’m sure. Besides, isn’t this what we were just talking about? Redemption Falls being safe?”

His gray eyes search mine. “Only if you’re sure.”

“I am.” I offer another smile. “It was nice to meet you, Crew Madden.”

“The pleasure was all mine, Tennyson West.”

“Please tell the girls good night for me.”

“I will.” He nods, and I swear he wants to say something else, and what he does speak, it’s not what’s swimming in his eyes. “I’ll come down this week and take a look at you.”

“At me?” I laugh as he blushes and sputters.

“I mean your plumbing.” He holds his hand up and shakes his head as I quirk a brow at the innuendo that has me laughing. “I mean your . . . I’ll just stop now.”

“You do that.” I’m at the bottom of the steps now. “Good night.”

And without another word, I make my way down the drive until the warm, summer night engulfs me in its darkness.

I hear the creak of the porch at my back. The giggle of the girls floating out from the upstairs window. The sounds of the night all around me.

Each step has me reliving the past two hours. The laughter. The ease. Crew’s constant use of the word we. There was no me, there was no the girls, it was always we.

And something about that struck me.

I miss being a part of a we. Being something to someone, enough so, that they refer to you in the plural. Stupid? Yes. True? Sadly.

Before I turn at the bend in the road, I stop next to the big oak tree and look back toward the house. Crew is still standing there, shoulder against the porch post, hands shoved in his jeans pockets, staring in my direction.

There’s something about him doing that—him watching me when I’m sure he can probably no longer see me but doing it anyway to make sure I’m okay—that has chills chasing over my skin in the best of ways.

I shake my arms as if that will rid them of the feeling, but it doesn’t shake away.

What’s not to like about Crew Madden? He’s kind, funny, interesting, clearly a good father, and can most definitely roll with the punches.

But he’s a cop.

While I don’t know how that makes me feel, I don’t have a choice in the matter, do I? It’s not like he doesn’t already know what I look like. That’s the only thing that could trace me back to my old life, to the old me.

And even still knowing that, all I can think about as my cottage comes into view is how truly easy the conversation was between us. Normally, I feel like I struggle to keep my guard up while at the same time appearing that it’s down.

It’s the constant battle of letting people in just enough while my foot is out the door to prevent them from pushing it open too far.

But the thought never crossed my mind tonight. It felt . . . normal.

Is that what it was? Is that why it felt so strange? Just two people talking without expectation—unless you count the twins’, of course.

Normal.

I repeat the word in my head as I turn my key in the security screen door.

The idea shouldn’t be foreign after all this time, but it is.

Is that why I stayed at their house longer than I normally do? Is that why my excuses to leave remained muted while I laughed and ate Oreos and wine for dinner?

“Hi, bud,” I say to Hani as he greets me at the front door, running his flank against my calves. I toss my keys and phone on the table, and the pink of Bobbi Jo’s letter catches my eye.

How did I go from being spooked out of my mind to having one of the most enjoyable evenings I’ve had in a long time?

If I hadn’t said yes, if I had let the misguided fear own me, if the girls hadn’t twisted my arm, I would have missed out on everything about tonight—the laughter, the lightheartedness I carried home with me, the promise to get my plumbing fixed.