Page 9 of Whirlwind (Seattle Blades #4)

N ightmare growls from his crate just outside my open bedroom door. The soft glow of light leaking in around my window blinds tells me it’s morning, which is good. I’d rather deal with an intruder in daylight than in the pitch-black middle of the night.

Not that I’m keen on having an intruder at any time of day. It’s likely nothing more than a passing neighbor walking their own dog.

Despite how tough I pretend to be to Willa, living alone in a house is an adjustment. Every weird sound late at night makes me a tiny bit anxious. I’m sure it will pass as I get used to it all.

Rolling out of bed, I grab a pair of sweats, pulling them on quickly. Nightmare spins in circles, wanting outside to investigate, his growls getting louder.

“I’m coming, buddy. Hang on.” He’s in such a rush to run for the door, I barely get ahold of him to latch the leash onto his collar. “Damn, son, chill out.”

Nightmare jumps at the door as I unbolt the lock, and as soon as I have it open a crack, he’s pulling on his lead and barking.

“Good morning, Nightmare,” Tyson says, kneeling to pet him.

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s weird to be creeping around a woman’s yard early in the morning?”

“Sure. But I promised I’d help when I got back from the road trip. I keep my word,” he says, holding up the shovel I keep leaned against the side of my house for scooping poop. “I think I got it all. Sorry, if it woke you up.”

“Did you promise?”

“Didn’t I?”

“I don’t think you did,” I say, leading Nightmare a few steps away as he sniffs out the perfect spot for his morning wee. “It’s appreciated, but it wasn’t necessary.”

“You’re welcome,” he says with a teasing roll of his eyes.

“Thank you,” I say, laughing.

“What are you up to today?”

“I’m installing a security system. Especially now that I know I have such nosey neighbors,” I tell him. “Then, I have a date with Henry.”

“Oh,” he says, a small frown on his face. “Want some help with the security system?”

“Do you know much about installing a security system?”

“Nothing at all. How about you?”

“I’ve read the instructions, so I guess I know more than you.”

“Only until I read the instructions.”

“Fair point,” I agree. “Come on in, you can read them while I make coffee and get dressed.”

“Don’t do that on my account,” he says under his breath.

“What? You don’t drink coffee? Are you one of the twenty-nine percent?”

“Twenty-nine percent of what?” He tilts his head, looking at me oddly.

“Twenty-nine percent of people who drink coffee have the urge to shit within thirty minutes.”

“No, I’m not one of those,” he says, his frown now a wide grin. “I wasn’t talking about coffee.”

“Good, so my toilet is safe from you, at least. Come on in,” I say, opening the front door for him. “Hope you don’t mind…busy.”

“Busy?” he asks, then pauses, looking around my living room that opens into the kitchen at the back. “Oh.”

I’ve been an active decorator this week.

While my bedroom and bathroom are still rather bare, my main living space is done, mostly.

I’ve painted the walls dark blue with a little hint of green.

The furniture is an array of different jewel tones, and I’ve placed all my favorite quirky things around.

Including my collection of pinned moths in shadow box frames, and my lamp that is a 1940s-style woman blowing a bubble that is the lightbulb.

She sits on the newly acquired giraffe table.

There’s a lot to look at, and most of it is vibrant or weird.

“I like stimuli.”

“It’s not busy. It’s eclectic. I like it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, why do you sound surprised?”

“Because I am surprised? How else should I sound?”

“No other way,” he says, shrugging. “Where’s this security system?”

I point to a box at the foot of the sofa.

Then retreat to my bedroom to put on real clothes.

Pulling off my sleep shirt, I realize I’ve had this entire interaction with Tyson while not wearing a bra.

It’s late winter and not warm outside. While the chill doesn’t bother me, my body reacts to it in its own way.

Does that mean he was talking about my nipples earlier, not coffee?

God, I’m so bad at this human interaction thing. How embarrassing.

The first thing I grab is a damn bra. Then, a clean T-shirt. I leave the sweatpants, because I have no plans to leave the house today. After a quick brush of my teeth and hair, I go back out to find Tyson lounging on my couch, reading the installation manual.

“This looks really easy.”

“I thought so, too. It’s such a small house; it shouldn’t take long.”

“Nope. So maybe you’ll go get lunch with me when we’re done.”

“Do you require a chaperone?” I ask, filling the coffee pot with water.

“Sometimes, sure. I don’t like eating out by myself if I have another option.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know,” he says, sitting up. “It’s always been a thing for me. Maybe because I’ve always had so many guys around from hockey. When I’m alone, it feels weird.”

“That makes sense, I guess. I can’t relate, but I understand,” I say.

“You can’t relate?”

“Nope, I’ve spent more time alone than not. For me, it’s stranger to be in a crowd.”

“Because you’re an only child?”

“That’s probably a big part of it. I did sort of raise myself,” I say, then quickly change the subject. “Where did you want to go for lunch?”

“I drove by a place called Grappa, last week. Thought I’d try them.”

“Sold,” I say. “They have a great lasagna, and I have no patience to make that shit myself.”

“That won’t ruin your appetite for your date?”

“My date?” What’s he talking about?

“Yeah, with Henry.” He’s looking at me strangely again.

“Oh! Henry of Skalitz, he’s the main character in Kingdome Come .”

“The video game?”

“Yeah,” I say, watching the coffee drip into the pot.

I wish it was quicker. I had one of those one cup machines, for a while.

The speed was great, the coffee, not so much.

Quality over quickness was what drew me back to a standard machine.

I need it black as night and strong as fuck.

Even though I only allow myself a cup a day. Otherwise, I get jittery.

Tyson laughs, shaking his head slightly, then goes back to reading.

“How do you drink your coffee?”

“What kind of creamer do you have?” he asks.

“None.”

“So black is my only choice?”

“Yes.”

“Then why’d you ask?”

“Curiosity,” I answer honestly.

“Black is fine,” he says, laughing again. Nightmare runs over to him, hopping on his lap. Tyson pets his head, and it hits me that I’m uncharacteristically comfortable with him in my house. He’s not exactly a stranger, but I don’t know him well, either.

I know Isla, and trust that she wouldn’t have had a relationship with him, or let him anywhere near her daughter, if he wasn’t a good man. Is that why I’m so comfortable?

Furthermore, why is he so comfortable? Why is he even here? With me and my dog on a rare day off.

“Why do you want to hang out with me today?” I ask, handing him one of the two mugs I poured. His has Krampus on it, mine has a giant octopus wrapping its tentacles around a pirate ship as if trying to sink it.

“Why wouldn’t I want to hang out with you?”

“Have most of our conversations been in the form of volleying questions to each other?”

“Have they?”

“Haven’t they?” I throw back.

“This right here is why I want to hang out with you, Kit,” he says, setting the manual aside and looking at me.

He has a nice smile, it looks genuine and not forced.

The kind that carries to his eyes. “Because you’re fun.

You’re playful. With such a public job, like mine, there’s a lot of pressure not to let people down.

When I have the chance to step away from it, I don’t want to take life too seriously. You seem like you don’t.”

“You don’t think I’m a serious person?”

“Is that what I said?”

“Repeat what you said, so I can be sure before I answer.” I don’t make the request to be funny or trite. It’s a genuine ask because I don’t always clue in to social cues properly.

“I said you’re playful,” he says. He reaches out to hold a couple of my fingers, gently rubbing his thumb over them.

I don’t pull away. It’s not making me more anxious, just…

more confused. “You’re also intelligent and curious.

If I’m making you uncomfortable, tell me.

I’ll stop doing whatever you don’t like, or I can leave. ”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” I say, moving to sit on the opposite side of the couch. “That’s what has me confused.”

“Why is that confusing?”

“Because we don’t know each other. Yet here I am, being more myself than I am with most people,” I say.

I’m careful with strangers, by default. When I’m in a crowd of people, I focus on what I’m doing and saying, not wanting to be strange or awkward.

That’s not been much of a thought process this morning, though.

“I disagree. We know each other, we’ve known each other for years.”

“You didn’t remember my name,” I accuse, and his cheeks redden.

“In my weak defense, I had a lot on my mind that day. Any trade is hard; this one was a gut punch. I am sorry, though, Kit Ashcroft,” he says. “Is Kit short for something?”

“According to my birth certificate, no. According to my grandmother, it’s short for Kitpu which is Mi’kmaq for eagle. My mother shortened it at my dad’s request when I came out a girl instead of a boy.”

“Your grandmother told you that?” Tyson’s brow furrows.

“My mom wasn’t available to ask. She was gone before I was two,” I say. “She had traveled to Montana for a funeral and never came back.”

“What do you mean?”

“My father said she met someone there and decided to stay.”

“Damn, Kit. That’s heavy.”