Page 11 of Between the Lines

Caden is still standing there, rocking back and forth in his tennis shoes.

“Oh shoot!” I palm my forehead, gritting my teeth. “I am so sorry, I’ll be there in twenty minutes tops.”

“I have a car seat here for emergencies, I can bring her to you,” Luanne replies. I’m in the opposite direction of where she needs to head, and with traffic, she’ll be really late. Walking—well, running—to her is my best bet.

“No, no, I’ll be there. Leaving in a moment.”

Shame weighs over me like a heavy cloak as I end the call. I can’t believe I forgot about Luanne’s doctor appointment today. Here I was, dozing off in my boss’s office.

Caden raises his brows expectantly at me.

“I’m really sorry, I have to leave. Like now.” I hike my thumb over my shoulder, my eyes burning, a hot tear rolling down my cheek. I swipe it away before he can see it.

But Caden opens the door wide, car keys looped around his fingers. He nods his head at me. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride.”

His musky cologne fills my nose as he blocks the door with his wide shoulders, but I shake my head.

“No, it’s okay, really, I can walk.”

Caden releases a small sigh. “Just take the ride, Fia. You’re in a bind.”

5

Caden

Fia secures her hair onto the top of her head as we idle at a stoplight.

“Sorry about the wind.” I break the silence, hoping to ease the tangible tension between us. Sure, maybe I should’ve reprimanded her for falling asleep in my office—my father certainly would’ve found it a fireable offense.

But I’d never run my business like he runs his.

I glance at Fia, my eyes hidden behind sunglasses. She continues to stare straight ahead though.

“It’s easier to just keep the roof and doors off all summer because of the sand,” I add, feeling the grit from this morning’s surf beneath my shoes.

“It’s fine,” she mumbles nearly a minute later.

She then points at a little yellow house on the corner. “Just pull up there, please.”

“K,” I reply, my gut sitting in my throat.

“Thanks for the ride.” She smiles tightly, unclipping her seat belt.

The last thing I was going to do was let her run two miles in the afternoon heat to pick up her kid when it was clear she was already having a shit day.

I grip the steering wheel as a response claws at my throat.

I shouldn’t involve myself in her problems.

But I would hate to see someone like Fia be taken advantage of.

She’s a good girl.

“You live close by, right?” I ask, even toned.

She jumps out of the Jeep and turns around, green eyes narrowed. “Yeah, I do . . .”

“Let me take a look at your roof.” It comes out like a demand, and Fia crosses her arms over her chest, casting a look over the long sidewalk sprawling under broad oak trees.