Page 71 of Wild Card

“Yeah. My body is a temple and all that.” I force a smile, turning to look at him over the back of the couch.

He reaches for the coffeepot but stops again. “Gwen, you’re creeping me out. Is this what it’s like to have a teenager and catch them doing something they shouldn’t be?”

“I’m just checking in on you. How are you feeling?”

He shakes his head, pouring himself a steaming mug of black coffee. “I feel like you’re changing the subject.”

I scoff. “Nah. Me? No.”

His watery blue eyes alert, and I try not to squirm as he shuffles to the living room and takes a seat on the armchair set ninety degrees from me. He takes a deep sip, closing his eyes briefly and sinking back into the cushions. “Oh yeah. That’s good.”

“Nothing quite like?—”

“Now that I’m caffeinated,” he cuts me off, “do you want to talk about how you were trying to spot Bash on the news?”

I freeze but only for a beat. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Yes, I do. Bash has been gone for three days, and with each day, my worry has grown. I check for updates about the fire. The containment levels. The evacuation alerts. Any statements from government officials.

And more than that, I worry about Bash. I worry that he’s out there doing something dangerous. It doesn’t matter that he has thousands of flight hours and years of experience. It doesn’t matter that he seems nothing short of capable in every single thing he does.

I mean, hello, that kiss? That mouth? Those hands?

Capable.

But then, on top of that, I worry that he hasn’t entirely healed from his surgery.

And then I worry about the fact that it was probably me who chased him out of town. So if anything happens, it will be my fault.

Basically, I’m a giant ball of anxiety over the guy, and it’s entirely possible that I am exaggerating my role in the situation.

Maybe it wasn’t me.

It probably wasn’t.

That’s his job. I bet I haven’t even crossed his mind.

“Okay, sure,” Clyde drawls. “Is this the game where we pretend there’s nothing going on between the two of you?”

Fucking Clyde. “You’re not supposed to be this snoopy.”

He scrubs a hand over his wiry, gray stubble. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just that I’m invested. I worked really hard to get you both under one roof.”

My head snaps in his direction. “Youwhat?”

I suspected something at the hospital—but hearing him so bluntly confirm it still shocks me.

“Don’t act so surprised. I love that big doofus like he’s my own, and to be frank, you’re feeling an awful lot like my second doofus.”

My heart swells. I never thought being referred to as one of Clyde’s doofuses would be so heartwarming.

He chuckles now, eyes taking on a faraway look. “They don’t call me Crazy Clyde for nothing. Sometimes you gotta be a bit out there to see what’s going on. And with you two, I’ve seen it since he came back from that night stuck in the airport and wouldn’t stop bringing you up. Never seen the guy check his phone as much as he did in the weeks and months after that. He tries to be all bland and grumbly, but I know he never gave up hope that you might contact him.”

Now my heart squeezes. Somehow, I didn’t realize Clyde was this in the loop.

My shoulders sag, and I drop the pretense. “I would have. I planned to. I checked my phone a lot too. The universe kind of fucked us. And now…” I trail off, gazing out the expansive windows toward the lake. I’ve lived here for a month, and strangely, that view never gets old.

Strangely, this place that isn’t mine at all has started to feel like home.