by Liza Street
He nodded, like it wasn’t weird for her to act so suspicious. “I read your address off your driver’s license when I helped fill out your info for the hospital.”
“And you memorized it.”
“I’m interested in you, not gonna lie.”
“But you’re here to be a friend.”
“Yes,” he said carefully. “A friend.”
“That sounds acceptable to me, then.” She purposefully didn’t say which parts were acceptable—friendship, or his interest. She wanted both, but she didn’t want to admit it, not even to herself.
He eyed the flashlight in her hands. “Nice flashlight. Brain anybody lately?”
Fighting a smile, Brigitte said, “I’m waiting for the right opportunity.”
He laughed, then looked around the living room. “Holy hell, woman, where’s your TV?”
“I don’t have one,” she said, laughing at his expression.
“Well, shit.”
“Language, sir.”
“Oh really?”
“Yes,” she said. “I am a school principal after all. All day long I tell kids how they can find more creative and accurate words with which to express themselves.”
Rafe’s eyes got wide. “I never understood that whole ‘crush on the teacher’ fantasy until now.”
Brigitte felt herself blushing. “That wasn’t what I meant—I mean—never mind. I’ll go get my laptop and we can watch a movie on that.”
He grumbled something about tiny screens as she retrieved her laptop case from the corner of the room. While Brigitte turned on the laptop, he spread a selection of DVDs out on the coffee table. Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, Braveheart, GoldenEye, Tremors, The Shawshank Redemption, and Dumb and Dumber.
“Gonna grab a bowl for the popcorn.” Rafe stepped into her kitchen.
“You call this a wide selection?” Brigitte called out. “These are all from the nineties with the exception of Ferris Bueller, and they’re all about guys.”
“What?” Rafe said, coming back into the living room with a large bowl. “No way. Dumb and Dumber is a romantic love story. So is Ferris Bueller. Braveheart. GoldenEye. Tremors. Okay, The Shawshank Redemption, not really a love story, I’ll admit that one.”
Brigitte shook her head. “You can’t tell me GoldenEye is a romantic love story.”
“All James Bond movies are love stories. There’s romance in each one. As far as this selection goes, we have a slapstick comedy romance in Dumb and Dumber. A refined comedy romance in Ferris Bueller. Braveheart is a tragic romance. GoldenEye is an action romance. Tremors is a horror romance.”
“You’re impossible.” But she was smiling while she said it.
“These movies were my friend’s,” Rafe said, looking more serious. “There’s not a lot of variety. We can watch something online if you want.”
Sensing a shift in mood, Brigitte said, “They were your friend’s?”
“Nobody else wanted his stuff. After he died.”
She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to ask more about it, or let it go, so she eyed the movie selection. “I pick Tremors.”
“Really?” Rafe asked. “Have you seen it before?”
“Nope. But I think the idea of phallic creatures ruining the world is an apt metaphor for current politics.”
He held up a fist for her to bump hers against. “You are a force to be reckoned with.”
As she leaned over the computer to start the movie, she kept her peripheral vision on Rafe. He wasn’t ogling her ass, but he wasn’t looking away from her body, either. There was definitely interest there, and chemistry between them. But so far he’d kept his promise and acted like a friend.
Rafe settled into the sofa, so Brigitte did the same, taking the opposite end.
The movie progressed, and although the concept was silly, Brigitte found herself getting wrapped up in the story. She scooted closer to Rafe with every startled jump she gave when a monster erupted from the earth. By the end of the movie, she was sitting right next to him, and he’d draped his arm behind her shoulders. Not touching her—his arm was fully on the back of the sofa—but she felt embraced nonetheless.
When the credits rolled at the end, she turned to Rafe. “Tell me about your friend.”
“Ah.” His throat moved as he swallowed. “Mickey. Good guy. He was a lot older than me—I was only eleven when he died, and he was, I don’t know, maybe in his thirties. But I felt like my parents were paying attention to my brother all the time and not to me, and Mickey was a cross between the ideal big brother and a dad.”
“It must have been hard when he died.”
“Yeah.” Something flashed in his eyes—to Brigitte it looked like guilt, and oh, she was familiar with that. So he blamed himself. She wondered why, but she didn’t want to press too hard. After all, she was nowhere near ready to share her skeleton-filled closet.
He ejected the DVD from her laptop and turned to face her. “I like being your friend,” he said, “but you can probably tell I want more. Can we try…more? We can do things at your pace.”
Oh, if only he knew how fast her usual pace was. That’s what scared her—her own feverish desires and the rapid pace she would set toward destruction.
She couldn’t say no, though, because every part of her wanted to say yes.
Besides, it was after dark, and for the first time in three nights she wasn’t afraid. Not only did he turn her on and make her laugh, but she felt safe.
“Yes, we can try this,” she whispered.
“Good.” He leaned forward, tilting his lips toward hers.
Her heart pounded. She wanted those lips that looked so soft, so hot, she wanted his breath which smelled like popcorn and chocolate to mingle with hers, she wanted their tongues to dance.
But instead of kissing her, he pressed his forehead against hers, then rubbed his cheek against the top of her head. It was almost cat-like. “Before anything else, we’re friends,” he said. “Until next time, then.”
“Until next time. And—thank you. For the movie, the popcorn, the friendship.”
“Anytime.”
He stepped out of the apartment, closing the door behind him. Brigitte was standing in front of the couch, not knowing how she got there, not understanding why she’d wanted to cling to him and beg him to stay.
Thirteen
The next day, Rafe went through a training at the CMR, his mind on Brigitte. He texted her. Thinking of you. Sleep okay last night?
A few minutes later, her text came back. He fumbled with his phone, nearly dropping it, and got a glare from the man lecturing the crew about utilizing other senses during a search. Rafe didn’t need that kind of training, but no one else knew that.
Brigitte’s response read, Not really. Nightmares.
He typed back, Sorry to hear it. Talk later?
Sounds good.
After the CMR shift and training, he picked up Laura and Chase, his mind on Brigitte. He hated the thought of her being alone and afraid at night. Even though he’d gone over yesterday, he decided he’d go over again today. If she didn’t want him there, she wouldn’t hesitate to say so.
The entire time that he, Laura, and Chase combed the woods, he couldn’t help thinking that this was futile, and his time would be better spent with Brigitte.
“What has gotten into you?” Laura said, nudging him when he stopped yet again to stare unseeingly into the forest.
“Hmm? Nothing.”
“Well, I feel like you’re wasting our time. We’ve been out here every afternoon for days. Penny’s upset that you haven’t been picking her up from school, by the way. She hangs out with Dristan at the deli until your parents can come and get her, but Dristan says she smells bummed.”
Rafe cringed. In order to balance his work with the CMR and search for vampires, he’d had to rearrange his schedule and Penny was suffering for it. It wasn’t like they were accomplishing anything out here, anyway, other than exercise.
“Let’s take t
omorrow off,” he said. “I’ll pick up Penny and, I don’t know, try to think of other quadrants to search. We’ve been all through the circle they could have walked, right?”
“You’d think so,” Chase said, coming up next to them. “But there’s nothing here. No secret vamp lairs.”
“I’m calling it,” Rafe said. “Let’s head home.” He felt like an utter, lazy failure by quitting early, but he didn’t know what else to do. Worse, he feared his inaction would mean that someone suffered later down the road. He wouldn’t be able to handle it—not again, not after Mickey.
He dropped Laura and Chase off, then texted Brigitte. I’m inviting myself over again tonight.
Her response was immediate. I’ll be waiting. What do you like to eat?
He had a naughty response in his head, but wasn’t sure if she was ready. I’ll take care of it, don’t worry.
He could save the naughtiness for later, when he could gauge her reaction in person.
On the way to her place, he stopped for supplies at the tiny grocery store. He drove along Main until he hit Alpine Street and hung a left.
He passed Mr. Kanely on the walkway. “Go get ‘er, tiger,” Kanely said.
Rafe smiled. Lion, he mentally corrected. Go get ‘er, lion.
Fourteen
Brigitte stared at the phone in her hands, re-reading Rafe’s texts. Rafe was coming over again. He was coming over. Brigitte did as much cleaning as she could. Bathroom. Kitchen counters. Dusting.
Then she very carefully chose fresh clothes. A long sweater and soft leggings.
As she waited, darkness fell, and Brigitte was still as jittery as before. Worse, maybe, because she hadn’t been able to sleep last night. She’d tried, after having Rafe’s comforting presence in her apartment, but then the nightmares had started. She needed to figure out how to sleep fast, though, because she was going back to work on Monday, the soonest they would let her.
This time when Rafe knocked on her door, the only freak-out that happened was in her chest. Her heart was pounding—not in fright, but in anticipation.
When she pulled the door open, he was standing there wearing a sexy smile, his arms laden with two canvas grocery bags. “Hungry?” he asked. “I’m making pasta.”
Brigitte’s mouth watered. She hadn’t been out of the house much since the hospital released her, and she’d been surviving on the things she had on hand. “Depends on the pasta,” she said. “I’m a vegetarian.”
“You’re a—” He stopped and shook his head, laughing a little. “No problem. I brought stuff to make sausage and mushroom ravioli. I’ll leave out the sausage.”
Letting him in felt like the rightest thing in the world. For the second time since he’d found her in the woods, she felt safe again, and she couldn’t deny that her feeling of security had something to do with Rafe. “Come on in.”
“No threats with the Maglite today?” he asked.
“It’s on the sofa. I’m waiting for you to get a little closer.”
His eyes twinkled as he set the grocery bags on her counter and looked at her from the breakfast bar dividing the kitchen from the living room. “You relax in there with your flashlight, and we can talk while I cook.”
“You’re taking over my kitchen?” she asked.
“I promise to clean up when I’m done.”
“Really.”
“Yes, really.”
His smile came so easily. Hadn’t he ever been hurt before? Didn’t he know how this worked?
Brigitte sat carefully on the sofa and let his cooking sounds envelop her. The pot being filled with water, the rhythmic sounds of chopping and kneading. She was tired of feeling tense and jittery, tired of trying to keep her anxiety and panic at bay. Last night’s terrors had been the worst yet, and she hadn’t fallen asleep until dawn, then was up after a couple hours, unable to sleep in the bright apartment. Now she leaned her head back against the sofa cushions, flashlight in hand, and fell asleep.
She woke to someone sitting down next to her. Gasping, she swung out with the flashlight, but the swing stopped in mid-air. Opening her eyes, she saw Rafe.
“It’s just me,” he said, gently prying the flashlight from her grip. “You’re safe.”
His kindness and acceptance did her in. The understanding look in his eyes, the touch of his fingers on her wrist after he took the flashlight. Her chin trembled. After everything that had happened with Lance and Marcellus, none of the gossip or cruel words had made her cry. It was the kindness that did it to her, every time. Cam coming to stay with her, Cam helping her pack to move to Montana. The quiet words of support or encouragement. And now, Rafe, telling her she was safe. Rafe, pulling her into a hug that smelled woodsy and clean.
She fell into his chest, which was a wall of muscle covered in a long-sleeved t-shirt. She cried quietly, angling her face so she wouldn’t soak his clothes. He rubbed circles on her back, murmuring that she was okay, that everything was going to be all right.
When she was all cried out, she sighed deeply against his chest. He smelled good and he felt good. But this couldn’t go anywhere—she was too broken.
“You weren’t lying,” she said, reluctantly pulling away. “You are a friend.”
“That I am. And your dinner is ready.” He gestured toward the coffee table in front of them, where two plates laden with pasta and salad were set out.
“Wow,” she said. “Where’d you learn how to cook like this?”
“My parents run a resort, and I spent a lot of time in the kitchen, trying to hide from my chores. I watched the chef, and she eventually taught me a few dishes.”
“And today, years later, I benefit,” Brigitte mused. She took a bite of pasta. And boy, did she benefit. “This is a taste of heaven.”
“I’m glad you like it. I have a question, though—and it’s very important to our friendship.” His eyes looked serious, and Brigitte swallowed her bite and set down her fork. “Are you okay with other people eating meat, or do you think the entire human race should be vegetarian?”
Brigitte couldn’t help it—she laughed. “That’s the serious question about our friendship?”
He nodded, but those adorable brown eyes were twinkling again. “Being an omnivore is very important to me.”
“It’s okay if the people around me eat meat,” Brigitte said.
“Phew,” Rafe said. “I’ve been so worried.”
“Really.”
“Really.” He took a bite and chewed thoughtfully, but she noticed his gaze kept returning to her, and the giant flashlight at her side. “Does the flashlight have to do with your nightmares?”
“It’s been hard,” Brigitte whispered.
He took her hand. “I’m sorry. Do you want to talk about what happened?”
“I don’t remember anything,” Brigitte said. “The police asked me for ages and I went to a hypnotist yesterday. The first thing I remember is you, touching my shoulder, telling me to drink some water. Before that? Nothing. It’s like some magic spell took everything away.”
Looking at their plates, Rafe asked carefully, “Do you believe in magic?”
Brigitte gave a little laugh. “Not really. My grandma did—she’s the one in the photo over there.” She pointed to the wall next to the door.
“The poet?” Rafe asked.
“Oh, you remember that?”
“Of course. I don’t usually forget when a beautiful woman gives me a poetic description. Dark chocolate eyes, a voice that could coax flowers from the ground.” He grinned. “I wonder what else you thought about me then, but didn’t say.”
“Stop, stop,” Brigitte said, feeling her face get hot. She was probably turning bright red.
He laughed. “Okay. So your grandmother. She was also a…witch?”
“She would never have used that term,” Brigitte said. “She’d have called herself a Helper, or a Midwife, even though she didn’t do much with birthing.”
“I wonder if she could have brought your memor
y back,” Rafe said.
“She did amazing things, but I never believed it was magic,” Brigitte said. “I miss her so much.” Not knowing what else to say after that, Brigitte took another bite of pasta.
Rafe ate in silence at her side, and it felt comfortable. As she chewed, Brigitte sneaked peeks at him. He was laid-back; she was not. He had a big personality—his presence seemed to fill the room; Brigitte would rather run things from behind the curtains. He was big and strong and sculpted; Brigitte was petite and curvy.
“What does that wrinkle between your eyebrows mean?” Rafe asked, reaching out to touch it.
His contact was like the strike of a match. Hot, bringing her aflame. And he’d only touched her freaking forehead, not any intimate body parts.
“I’m wondering why you’re here,” she said. Breathless. Already under his power.
No, tamp it down. She stood up abruptly. The sofa was dangerous ground—too like a bed.
“I like you,” he said. “For the moment we’re friends, and someday maybe more. I’m not trying to trick you into anything, Brigitte, or force my will. I want to be with you, in whatever way you think is best.”
She didn’t know what to do with that information, but he wasn’t asking anything of her right now. She paced in front of the coffee table. “I’m not ready for a relationship. I might never be again. I’m not well, Rafe.” She gestured to her head and her heart, trying to convey that her illness wasn’t really physical.
He leaned forward, planting his elbows on his knees. Somehow, despite his seated position, he seemed bigger than her. Stronger. Protective. Like he could snap to attention and vanquish all of her enemies with one mighty roar. “Brigitte, I’m not going anywhere unless you want me to. I’d wait years if that’s what you want.”
She laughed, but in an uncomfortable way. “It might take years.”
“I’m okay with that. For now, can I sleep on your couch?”
“What?”
“It’s after midnight, there are huge circles under your eyes, and maybe if I’m in the apartment, you’ll be able to sleep. Powerful, mighty strapping man like myself. You’ll feel safer.” He held his arms up and flexed his biceps, which looked hard as granite beneath the stretched fabric of his shirt.