Page 8 of My Girl to Protect
Rick.
Panic clamps down on my chest tight. My fingers tremble as I stare at the screen.
For half a second I almost answer—
No.
I silence the call. The phone buzzes again almost immediately. Another call. I stare until it stops ringing.
Then a text:“You can’t stay away forever. I’m waiting.”
My stomach twists. My hands grip the counter so tight my knuckles ache. My breathing becomes shallow, panic rising—tight chest, dizziness, heat in my face.
And a realization hits me. I’m not going crazy. Maybe I did see Rick yesterday. I almost heave at the thought. I want to run. I want to scream. But I can’t.
“Hello.” A voice, far away.
“Hello?” The voice is closer now. Insistent. It cuts through the panic like a knife.
I snap back, the rag clenched in my fist. And then he’s there. The hallway stranger. Tall. Calm. Solid—even more so in the cramped diner, like nothing in the world could shake him. My gaze drops to his hands. Big. Strong. I picture Rick crumpling under them, and the thought brings a strange, sudden peace.
I lift my eyes up to his, and I’m pinned again. Everything else falls away—just my fluttering heart and the breath I don’t even realize I’ve been holding. He steps closer, leaning in slightly, and that quiet presence wraps around me like a shield.
Just like that, the last shred of panic loosens its grip.
“Are you alright?” he asks softly. No condescension. No judgment. Just quiet concern.
I blink, then clear my throat. “Sorry—hi. I’m sorry, hi,” I blurt out, finally answering. “I’m Cammi. I’m alright.” I close my eyes briefly in pure mortification.
“I’m glad, Cammi,” he replies calmly. His gaze doesn’t wander, doesn’t linger anywhere it shouldn’t, doesn’t make me feel small.
My cheeks go hot, and I fumble with the menus. “I’m not always clumsy. I mean—I’m good at my job. Well, notgreatat it or anything. I just—” I trail off, blushing harder under his amused, patient stare.
Pull yourself together, Cammi.
“Cammi?” he asks softly.
My eyes snap to his face. I exhale softly before answering. “Y-yes.”
“Noah,” he says, holding out a hand. “It’s nice to meet you properly.”
I stare at his hand a second before I put mine in it. His grip is firm but not crushing, and the warmth of it sends another ripple of heat through me. I can feel my face burning, my stomach twisting, and I try not to trip over my own thoughts.
“You too.” I exhale, finally finding my footing. “Thanks for the rescue this morning. Sorry if I made it weird.”
“It’s alright. Glad I could help.”
He looks so unbothered. Even after the panic attack he just watched happen. “You’re really calm,” I blurt out. “Even after…you know.”
He raises an eyebrow, faintly amused. “Even after what?”
I flush. “Nothing.” I straighten my apron. “Just—thank you. For being…here.”
He nods. “Of course.”
“Can I…um…take your order?” I ask, my words coming out faster than intended.
“Surprise me.”
