Page 57 of Lock

“Yes, Sir.” Shelby’s words are lost in the distance between us. Quiet, they drift away with the winter wind, but my eyes catch it.

Her obedience warns me. I crave it more than anything.

Soon.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Shelby

Groaning, I look from left to right. Where do I even start? It’s not just my life I’m packing up.

When she moved, my stepmother left most of my father’s personal possessions for me, saying that the memories of him were enough. Her packed car had held only one box of his items.

At the time, I’d been grateful. It had felt like he was still here. Now, his things are just another stark reminder of how alone I am.

I rub at the ache in my chest.

A harsh breath puffs out my cheeks. Decision made. Dad’s stuff stays where it is, at least for one more night.

I glare at the small pile of unopened bills on the hall table and the envelope next to them. I still haven’t looked at what Doc paid me. Hopefully, it’ll be enough to catch up on one of the bills.

It will.

I bite my lip and force myself to turn away. I may not know the man as well as I should, given our new arrangement, butI know him well enough to know that whatever is inside that envelope is far too generous.

His earlier words echo in my head.“I take care of what’s mine.”

My core heats.Get a grip, Shelby!The man meant that you’re his employee.

I jump, grasp the cord hanging from the ceiling, and pull, causing the loft hatch to lower. Grasping the other cord that falls, I pull that to release the ladder. As my feet land on the first step, I feel a small twinge between my legs, one that takes my breath away.

Here I am, fantasizing about my neighbor, while still sore from lying with another man just last night.

Guilt floods me.

Leonard doesn’t deserve that. He’s a good man. Generous and loving.

No. This arrangement is strictly business, at least until my mystery man looses interest. My earlier guilt is replaced with sorrow.

I don’t want it to end. Just the sneaking around, lying, never knowing when he’ll come for me. Tilting my head back, I groan.

God, I have issues.

My mother’s things have sat where they are for as long as I can remember. Next to the beam, near the wall connecting to Doc’s house.

Some things I am willing to get rid of, but my mother’s items are not one of them. They come with me. As I get closer, more boxes appear.

Maybe not all of them.

I make a mental note to ask Kaleb if there’s any storage room at the trucking yard that I can rent next time I see him. If not, he has a garage, and the man owes me after that breakfast fiasco.

I really should check in with Sam. I’m a terrible friend. But she hasn’t called me either, which usually means they made up. The image of them sitting across from me in the diner calms my worry. The way Kaleb had looked at my best friend, the way his fingers had played with her hair—something tells me she’d prefer me not to call for a while.

I’ll give her a few more days.

Chuckling, I sit next to the boxes. Carrying these down counts as packing five boxes, right? Pointing, I count quickly. Twelve. That definitely counts in my book . . . but not in Leo’s.

I check the time on my watch. It’s getting late. Pulling out a photo album, I shuffle along the floorboard. After a quick flip through this, I’ll take half the boxes down before packing up my room.