Page 14 of Only the Wicked

“Do you have a coat?”

“It’s summer,” I say, blinking.

“Can get chilly at night.”

His business trench belongs in the city, not out here in a small mountain town. I doubt it provides much warmth, but it adds to his business vibe. And maybe date vibe?

I glance down at the outfit I chose. A short capped-sleeve Prana dress that hugs my curves loosely and falls to my calves with gold-buckle Birkenstocks that balance outdoorsy and feminine. These clothes are from my wardrobe, but I selected them for our date as they fit the part of a young woman on vacation in the Highlands.

“The temperature will drop into the sixties. Do you want to get a cardigan? I mean, you can take my coat, but it will swallow you.”

At six-two, he’s tall, but at five-seven, I’m no shorty.

“And frankly, I’m enjoying the view too much to cover it up.”

Did he actually just say that? I blink, processing what is, in all fairness, a slightly cheesy comment. Completely uncalled for, heat rises along my neck and cheeks, while a visual of the jean jacket I didn’t pack that would’ve gone so well with this dress flashes.

“I’ll grab my fleece,” I say.

“Come on.” He steps to the door, leaving me to follow. “I’ve got a solution in mind.”

I follow him through the cozy lobby with dark wood and small windows that make you wish it was winter and outside a snowstorm raged. But when we step outside, we’re greeted with a touch of humidity and a golden evening sun. A profusion of red, blue, and white flowers bloom in window boxes and baskets in storefronts all along idyllic Church Street.

There’s a subtle chill in the air, but it’s still undeniably warm, possibly exacerbated by the undercurrent running through my veins. A challenge, that’s what’s contributing to the heat. It’s the excitement and intense awareness of a mission.

He stretches an arm out, exposing a Garmin. “There’s a shop we can catch before it closes.”

He holds out a hand, and I dutifully take it. My legs stretch to match his long strides as we slow for a passing car, but the Subaru stops, waiting for us to cross.

Warmth circles my fingers, but it’s more than warmth. Tingles glide along the underside of my arm.

It’s a compromising reaction.

This is a job. Yet my gaze falls to our connection, to his capable hands and long fingers with trimmed nails and confident hold.

Two silent minutes later he releases my hand and swings open the door to Lulu Bleu and holds it for me.

“I’m fine,” I insist, attempting to cover my frustration at his insistence I need a sweater with a soft smile.

He rolls his eyes, grins, and steps inside, leaving me on the sidewalk.

What is he doing?

I scan the street and the handful of pedestrians. Sun shines on the windshields of the cars parked along the street, blocking any view inside, but there’s an SUV I recognize at the far end.

The back up is unnecessary.

He’s not dangerous. He’s not that kind of criminal.

With an internal huff, I swing the door open to join my date. He holds up a cropped camel-colored cardigan that’s several shades lighter than my chestnut sundress.

“Will this work?”

It’s cute. I check the brand. I’m not familiar with it, but it doesn’t strike me as crazy expensive. It’s soft, not itchy. I reach for the price tag, but he lifts it out of my reach and passes it to the young woman at the register.

“We’ll take this.”

He flashes his phone at a reader, and hits confirm. The woman at the register blushes, smiling at him like he’s bought it for her, as she undoes a small gold clip that holds the price tag.