Page 33

Clearing my throat when he settles his hand at the small of my back—a respectable level, not too high or too low—those damn tingles kick in again. Never mind that the ache of his abandonment is clogging my throat.
I let him guide me to the bakery as if I need the assistance, which is further proof my sanity has taken a vacation.
Then, it all goes down the crapper when we cross the sidewalk, and a woman darts past us, almost barreling into me before righting her path at the last minute. Colt pauses, watching her go. His gaze drifts behind us, eyes narrowing.
Uncertain what the problem is, I ask, “Is something wrong?”
I recognized her from school—Bea Hollier.
I never liked her.
She used to pick on Tee something fierce until I got in her face. The town’s hatred gave me a backbone ironically enough. No way in hell was I letting anyone talk smack about the one person who kept me going.
He shoots me a smile. “No, nothing’s wrong.”
His mask wins a solid score of eight out of ten.
It doesn’t make it easier to relax around him though.
What was it about Bea that had him pausing in his tracks?
The last thing I heard about her was that she married that douche canoe—Marvin Grantley. To my mind, they’d always suited one another. Both of them had a far too high opinion of themselves.
“Do you have something going on with her?” I demand because I can’t imagine what else has him so concerned.
It doesn’t fit, though. He wasn’t checking her out. I’ve seen enough guys on the prowl and his expression wasn’t interested—it was worried.
“No.” He settles a measured look upon me. “While I’m with you, I won’t be with anyone else.”
I guess that’s reassuring.
“I wasn’t?—”
“Yeah, you were. You’re thinking I’m like my dog of a father. I can tell you now, Zee, I’ve never cheated on any of my partners.”
More reassurance.
But it’s not in the vein I was hoping for.
I’m still confused and annoyed, though he appeased a potential future issue that would have us being at the epicenter of a gossip-fueled whirlwind.
“If you’re going to check someone out when you’re with me, then you’d better be more discreet.”
“I wasn’t checking her out. Didn’t you see the bruise on her face?” His tone is calm though I’ve definitely pissed him off.
He doesn’t give me a chance to answer. Just urges me onward.
I notice more than he’d like because I see him flick a glance at the street as he closes the door behind us.
Was Bea bruised?
I genuinely don’t remember. She was walking too damn fast for it to register.
“—you hear? The bank’s foreclosing on Lydia Armstrong’s house. So sad,” Hilary Browne comments, sounding anything but sad. “Why, I went to visit her yesterday and she was in the middle of packing!”
“Where’s she moving—” Harry, the owner of the bakery, breaks off when he sees us. “Colton! You finally decided to come and sample my new recipe?”
I almost jump at Harry’s easy tone. I’d expected him to be flustered. Much as he’d have been if Clyde had walked in.