Page 9 of How You See Me (You and Me Duology #2)

I can’t scoop her up. Can’t ease the weight on her bones or bring back the color stolen from her cheeks. I have to let her struggle.

And now, I’m supposed to leave her behind to go play tourist? Smile for selfies and cross off bucket list items like she’s not fighting for her life?

What kind of man does that make me?

It’s what she wants , I remind myself. This trip isn’t for me. It’s for her, and she believes it will help.

Hell, maybe she’s right.

What I need to do is to point the van west and find a way to believe it too.

◆◆ ◆

The hour-long drive to Richmond starts out smooth. Almost too smooth. Like the last few minutes of sunshine before the rain.

But my mind is another story. It's a damn minefield. My thoughts bounce shrapnel inside my skull—Ava, all the unknowns I’ll soon face on this trip, Josie.

Especially Josie as I walk up to her building and press the buzzer for her apartment. All I can do now is brace for impact.

“Yeah?” Her voice crackles through the speaker.

“I’m here.”

A beat of silence, then— “Who’s this?”

The amusement in her voice makes my jaw flex. I take a deep breath and push the speaker button with a grunt. “Funny.”

“You’re not laughing.” Her voice floats through the air, not from the intercom but from a few feet away.

She’s right here in the flesh, leaning against the door like an art piece.

Barefoot, swimming in a T-shirt two sizes too big, and speckled with paint.

No shorts in sight—or maybe they’re lost somewhere under the hem.

Either way, my brain short circuits, and every minute I spent priming myself to see her again has been rendered pointless.

Being near her still hits me like a freight train I somehow forgot was coming.

No matter how hard I try, I’m not sure I could ever prepare for this woman .

I force my gaze to stay on her face. No way am I giving her the satisfaction of letting my attention travel south. “Ha. Ha.”

“We’ll work on your sense of humor.” As if she’s won, she pivots and heads inside.

I follow, dragging my self-control along like dead weight.

Her apartment on the main floor is a small war zone of color between the mismatched antique furniture, canvases in various stages of the creative process, and paint tubes littering every surface.

If that wasn’t enough to make me twitch, the half-eaten breakfast on the counter and the clothes strewn about the room push my already wavering patience overboard.

“Are you packed?” I ask, continuing to scan the room, already knowing the answer.

“All business and no play, Sergeant?”

“Staff Sergeant,” I correct automatically. “And no. We’re on a schedule.”

“Congratulations on the promotion.”

“Thanks.”

Her hands come up to rest on her hips. “Do I have to call you Staff Sergeant on this trip, or do you prefer something else?”

Exasperation escapes with an exhale. I hate delays and small talk and the way my body reacts to her. All those little bombs assault me at once.

“Hayes is fine.”

“Alright. Would you like something to drink, Hayes ? ”

“I’m good.” My posture locks up. Arms behind my back. Spine straight. My default setting when the world feels too unpredictable.

“You’re not reporting to duty, Sergeant. Sorry, Hayes. You don’t have to remain attention in my home.”

“It’s just how I stand.”

“You’re gonna be a tough nut to crack, aren’t ya?”

I don’t know how to answer that. Seeing her again has already shifted my fault line.

“You seemed more at ease last time I saw you.”

Is she baiting me? Dangling our almost-kiss like a lure to see if I’ll bite. “Different day.”

She taps her chin with a finger, drawing my attention to her kissable mouth. “You’re not like that Zach Bryan song, are you? ‘I Remember Everything.’ Heard of it?”

“No.”

“The lyrics say he only smiles when he’s drinking. I bet that’s you. I’ll play it for you once we hit the road.”

“Speaking of . . .” Grateful for the lead in, I use it to get back to the purpose for my being here. “Can I get your bags?”

“Oh, right. Um.” Her nose wrinkles with a cringe. “I’m not finished packing yet.”

Of course, she isn’t. I check my watch, and her hands fly up.

“I know. I’m sorry, but in my defense, you’re early. I promised Jordan I wouldn’t cause any trouble and—”

“I’m only an hour early.”

She brushes both hands down her paint-splattered shirt before pivoting and heading into the kitchen. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“By packing so we can leave?”

“By feeding you.” She beams over the counter separating the two rooms. “There’s already a casserole in the oven. Enough for two. While it bakes, I’ll pack. Then, we’ll eat so we won’t have to stop later. How’s that sound?”

Like a delay that could have been avoided. “I don’t need dinner.”

“But it smells good, right?”

Damn, it does.

“They say the way into a man’s good graces is through his stomach.”

“That’s not how it goes.” And talking about my heart, the correct adage, is off limits.

“Tomato potato.” She puts on what she must think is a serious expression and points a wooden spoon at me. She’s too cute to pull it off. “It’s the least I can do. Please make yourself comfortable.”

“I don’t do comfortable.”

She pauses at that. A flicker of something real in her eyes, and I hate how much I’m drawn to it. Want to kiss it. Undo it. Whatever it is, it guts me.

“Give me something to do,” I clarify because I can’t sit still in this moment with her so close. So bare. “Make me useful.”

“Got it.” She points to something behind me. “Will you wash my paint brushes? That will be one less thing for me to do before we leave.”

“Sure.”

She winks—fucking winks—at me and saunters away, T-shirt riding dangerously high above her sexy legs, and I’m left speechless in her wake for a second time.

And we haven’t even left her apartment yet.