Page 7 of My Girl to Protect
“Whoa! Are you okay?” The voice is calm and steady. Like someone who doesn’t panic.
I blink. Lift my head slowly. And I freeze.
Blue. The bluest eyes I’ve ever seen—bright, magnetic, like they could pull me under if I stared too long. And filled with concern. Is that surprise flickering under it too? No. I must be seeing things.
The concern in his eyes deepens. Oh God, I think I’ve been staring for too long. My cheeks go hot under his gaze.Get up, Cammi.
“I—I’m fine,” I stammer, scrambling up, but my knees wobble, and I slide back down.
My hands are shaking.Why are my hands shaking?
“Here.” He holds out a hand.
I hesitate, looking back intohis solid, warm eyes. Then I take it—because what else do you do when someone holds out their hand like that? Heat rushes up my neck. My stomach flips.
His hand swallows mine. He pulls me up like I weigh nothing, and I get my first real look at him on the way. He’s tall—I have to tip my head back—with a broad, heavy build that fills the narrow hallway, nothing lean about it. Dark hair, a few days into a beard. Older than me. A lot older, I think; there’s a steadiness in his face that the boys I know don’t have, lines at the corners of those blue eyes that say he’s lived a decade I haven’t touched yet. It should make me nervous. It doesn’t.
“Thanks,” I manage in a small voice.
“Sorry about the collision.” His lips curve slightly, a half-smile that makes my knees threaten to give again. “I should’ve been watching.”
“No, it’s fine. I—I was rushing,” I interrupt, securing my bag over my shoulder.
He shakes his head. “Really. It’s fine.”
I bite my lip, blushing. There’s something about him—calm, steady, safe—that makes me clumsy. Makes me act out of character. Makes my heartbeat erratic.
“I—I should go,” I stammer, tugging my bag tighter. “I’m late for work.”
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t rush me. Just nods. “Alright. Be careful.”
I mutter something and push myself into motion, heart hammering, mind spinning. I take one last glance over my shoulder as I round the corner.
He’s gone.
I tell myself to focus. Work. Don’t think about him. I can’t. Not now. Maybe, not ever. Besides, I have bills to pay—and I’m clearly losing it, too. Just yesterday, I thought I saw Rick lurking around the diner. I double-checked. No one there.
I shiver, and my steps speed up.
???
The diner smells like grease and coffee, a mix that should feel comforting but today just feels sharp in my nose. I duck behind the counter, tugging my apron tight, and try to ground myself. My legs feel like jelly from running, my heart still pounding from the hallway encounter.
I make myself move—arranging napkins, stacking menus, wiping down the counter the way I do a hundred times a day. Focus. But my mind won’t cooperate. The stranger lingers.
The clear blue of his eyes. That half-apologetic smile stirred something I’ve never felt, and my pulse picks up justremembering it. I shake my head, trying to push it away. I have no right to feel like this. I barely know him.
“Cammi?” a voice cuts through the fog. I whip my head around. It’s Danny, one of my coworkers.
“Yeah?” I say. It’s almost a whisper. As if my voice will erase my thoughts of him.
“You almost had another strike. I had to cover for you with Paul.”
“Oh, thanks. I got held up.” I force a smile.
Losing my job should terrify me. It isn’t sinking in at all. Danny says something else, but I can’t concentrate enough to answer properly. My mind keeps replaying the hallway. The hand. Those eyes.
I grab a rag and wipe a tabletop in big, exaggerated strokes, hoping no one notices how far away I am. The phone vibrates in my apron pocket. I pull it out and freeze.
