Page 5 of Bound to the Griffin (Hillcrest Hollow Shifters #3)

The crate hit the floor with a solid thunk , stirring up a puff of dust from the old braided rug that had probably been there since before dial-up.

I stood by the window, sunlight filtering through the worn lace curtains, and watched Jackson straighten up; tall and broad in that forest-green uniform.

The golden sheriff’s badge caught the light, but it was his eyes that held mine.

Amber. Sharp, like a hawk mid-dive.

I rubbed my palms on my jeans before I realized I’d been staring.

“Living room’s not much yet,” I said, my voice a little too high, too bright.

“But she’s got good bones.” I cringed as the words left my mouth, wishing I could take them back.

God, when was the last time I’d had a man in my home?

A man as sexy as this one? Probably never, actually.

Back home, I’d lived under my mom’s shadow. Alone was a foreign concept.

He gave the room a long look, his eyes scanning over the faded floral wallpaper, the scuffed baseboards, and the fireplace I’d scrubbed with enough lemon oil to choke a citrus grove.

His gaze paused there—on the stonework and carved wood—maybe impressed, maybe just polite, and then drifted back to me.

“It’s got heart,” he said simply. That shouldn’t have warmed me the way it did, but I was pleased anyway. It sounded so genuine, so honest, and it made me feel relieved, like I wasn’t making a huge mistake by digging in my heels and staying in a house with more character than waterproof roof tiles.

“You want some tea?” I asked, already halfway to the sideboard where I had unpacked my favorite teacups last night. That was a bit more than just letting him walk me home with that pile of things; that was inviting him to stay. My heart stuttered in my chest as I waited for his answer.

He hesitated, just a beat, then gave me a slow nod.

“Yeah. Thank you.” He peeled off his jacket—military neat—and draped it over the arm of the couch like it was sacred.

My fingers fumbled with the tin of loose-leaf I’d bought before I came here.

Lavender chamomile. Soothing. I probably should’ve offered coffee.

Something strong. Masculine. Normal. But tea was all I had.

I was a total nut when it came to tea blends, and this one was my go-to when I was nervous.

“I mean,” I added quickly, “you didn’t have to say yes.

I just thought… well, after walking me home, you looked like you could use…

God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be weird.

” I blabbed my mouth like an idiot, chattering without breathing when I got nervous, and I was really nervous right now. The tea would help, I hoped.

Jackson looked over his shoulder at me, one brow arched, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

The breath stalled in my throat when he looked at me like that.

He was sexy as sin, too gorgeous to be real with his sandy blond hair, those sharp cheekbones, and all those freaking muscles.

“You’re not weird, Gwen,” he said gently.

His voice sounded a tad husky, smoky even.

Gwen. Not Ms. Avery , not ma’am , not any of the stiff, polite nonsense that hid nothing but barbs I’d been dodging since I got here.

Just Gwen. It was plain, simple, the kind of thing my friends back home used to call me before those friendships had abruptly exploded in my face.

It brought on a wave of homesickness I didn’t expect, not this early on in my venture.

I swallowed, busying myself with the kettle as it began to hum.

My heart thudded in a way I wished I could blame on the tea, but I’d chosen a calming blend, damn it, nothing high-octane, full of caffeine.

The tea was absolutely blameless, besides the strongest I had was Earl Gray or some Darjeeling, nothing with a real kick.

The truth was, having someone here—someone on my side —felt like air after drowning.

The town might’ve eyed me like a stray dog dragging in fleas, and a few kind words and help with my supplies from him counted for a lot.

The wave of homesickness was gone as quickly as it had come, because it was silly and pointless. What I’d had before was gone, whether I was here or there. Better that I be here, making new friends, new connections, like with a handsome, helpful sheriff.

When I turned around, he was kneeling at the hearth, his big hands expertly arranging the split logs I’d stacked that morning.

There was something almost reverent in the way he worked, like the fire mattered, like I mattered.

That was fanciful thinking on my part, but the shiny, polished hearth with its beautiful carvings evoked images of older times, bygone times.

Somehow, Jackson’s handsome, aristocratic face seemed to fit into an older setting too.

“Lemon?” I asked, holding up the tiny dish with the slices. My mouth was dry as a bone, caught on the way his tan shirt stretched over his wide shoulders, his thighs and butt filling his pants in the most glorious fashion. Get it together. If he caught me drooling, that would be so embarrassing.

He glanced back again. “Sure.” Something passed through his amber eyes that could have been amusement, but I wasn’t sure if it was at me or the situation. I supposed a guy like him didn’t drink tea, let alone lavender and chamomile with a slice of lemon and a dollop of honey.

I knelt beside him as he struck the match, his steaming cup trembling in my hand.

The scent of sulfur curled through the air before the kindling caught and light blossomed in the hearth, dancing golden and alive.

We sat there a moment, both of us watching the flames like they held some kind of answer.

He broke the silence first. “You’ve done a lot of work on the fireplace. It’s beautiful.” It went to show what a little love, polish, and a few hours with a rag could amount to. The fireplace did look good, the only thing not faded and ancient in the living room.

“All in vain, if the rest of your townspeople have their way. I don’t think they want me here.

” I didn’t say it because I wanted pity, or for him to say nice things again, things that implied that at least one person did want my company.

I said it because it was a fact, and one that was a little more hostile than the reception I had expected.

I wanted him to make sense of it for me.

His jaw tightened just a little. “Most people don’t know what they’re talking about.

” That was it, no explanation for why people had behaved the way they had, though surely he knew.

His gaze was resolute, but it didn’t tell me anything either, just that he was steady, and that I likely wouldn’t get answers even if I asked why. Damn it, I hated secrets.

With a hint of a frown, I handed him the tea, my mind spinning as I tried to solve the puzzle, even though I knew I couldn’t. Our fingers brushed—warm skin against warm skin—and the contact buzzed straight through me, like static on a winter’s day.

I sipped my own and tried not to look at him over the rim of the emerald green cup, but I felt his presence all the same. He was steady, calm, but larger than life at the same time. His warmth against my shoulder was stronger than the beginning heat from the flickering flames.

Maybe it was foolish. Maybe it was so very me to want something soft and kind in the middle of a town full of secrets and half-hidden snarls.

But as the fire crackled and the old walls of Halver’s Haven soaked in the heat, for the first time since I had set foot in this creaky place, I felt back in touch with the sense of adventure that had caused me to buy it.

Sitting next to the town’s handsome sheriff, who was willing to go against the grain, made me feel as if it was more than simple stubbornness that made me want to stay.