Page 22 of Never and Always
“Yes.” It was a wobbly yes.
“That’s my girl. Stick me with and I’ll get you somewhere warm and safe. You’ve got this.”
He stooped down, and I realized he’d picked up my handbag and a bag of takeout in one hand. The scent of Indian food would normally be a good one, but right now, it turned my stomach.
“How did you find me?”
He kept me tucked to his side as we walked down the sidewalk. “Saw you in the restaurant with your brother. I was heading home and followed you. Wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Chance. God, this was all about Chance. What trouble was he in? What had he brought to my doorstep?
Tears threatened again and I battled them back.
Everett turned down another street, then stopped at a small complex of neat, attractive townhouses set back among some trees.
I tried to focus. Damn, my neck and palms were stinging like crazy. “This is where you live?”
“Home sweet home.”
He headed to the front door of a townhouse decorated in attractive stone, green, and touches of wood. As he pulled out his keys, the door of the neighboring townhouse opened, and I saw the shadow of a man in the doorway.
“Everett?” an older man said.
“Dad. Hey, I got dinner, but I ran into a work colleague. She took a tumble in the snow. Just need to help her out.”
“She okay?”
“She will be. Has a spine of steel, this one.”
Is that what he thought of me? Right now, I felt like a wobbly mess.
Everett handed over the takeout. “Eat without me.”
“All right. Take your time. Hope you’re all right, miss.”
I cleared my throat, not looking at Everett’s father. “Thanks.”
Everett led me inside. I knew in an instant it was his place because his scent permeated the space. I breathed in and, for some reason, felt a little steadier.
“Okay, up on a stool.” He gripped my waist and helped me onto a glossy wooden stool at the small peninsula in his kitchen.
The kitchen was compact but stylish, with excellent appliances. The cabinets were a light gray that looked great with the white marble countertops. It opened into a small dining area that had a round table made out of recycled wood, then into the living area. The vaulted ceiling gave a sense of space and showcased the gorgeous fireplace of stacked stone that went all the way to the ceiling. A big, comfy couch in a deep beige faced a fireplace and large TV. The coffee table was also recycled wood with an interesting design. It was oval but the base was a sinuous curve.
“I like your coffee table.”
“Thanks. I made it.”
“Made it? Like by yourself.”
His lips quirked. “With my own two hands. I like woodworking in my spare time. I made the dining room table as well.”
Wow. I was impressed. They looked like something out of a high-end boutique.
He opened a cabinet under his kitchen sink and returned with a first aid kit. I stared at it. When I was young, if Chance or I hurt ourselves, I had to put our bandages on. Mom had always been at work.
“Let me see your neck. It’s bleeding.”
“He had a knife,” I whispered. Suddenly, my vision blurred, like the walls were closing in, leaving only darkness.
