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Knox raises an eyebrow. “I was being serious, Sunny.”
“So was I.”
“You really trying to win that woman over, Sunny?”
“Yeah. I am. I kinda like the idea of ending up with someone smarter than me. Following your lead.”
“Cheeky fuck,” Knox grumbles.
“You managed to land a good one, Prez, and you know it.”
“And you and I both know that was because of a hurricane and a huge dollop of fate. But one thing I’m learning is that all you have to do to land a good woman is to actually live up to the kind of man you want to be. A good one. A useful one. One who cares and protects. Women need to feel safe, Sunny. And I’m not talking about keeping ‘em under lock and key, although, Maren drives me to distraction enough sometimes that I have to fight that urge. They need to feel safe enough to live the life they want and know they don’t have to worry because you always have them.”
I blow out a breath, at that. “I’m worried about her, Prez. That trouble, I’m worried it followed her home.”
“Then we do what we do, Sunny. You don’t have time to waste worrying about it. Figure out a way to learn what’s happening to her so you can protect her. I guarantee if you go back to her with information that helps her, and she sees that you care about her and what she cares about, she’ll be putty in your hands. But make sure we beef up patrols of the area so we can keep an eye on it. Do that, first.”
It’s a lot to process. What he said about going to see Della. I’d probably feel a million feet tall giving her the very information she’s trying to find. And, yeah, while I care about all the things Knox cares about, I especially care about Della still being alive so I can figure out whether she’s someone I want to become a permanent part of my life.
And I’ll figure out how to make her see I can be a part of hers too.
No matter what that takes.
16
DELLA
Igather the supplies I need from the lab, then hit my office. On the shelf, I see a vintage Florida wildlife field guide. I bought it out of pure whimsy because the illustrations were lovely.
But I think back to what Sunny said when we were by the water. About how he calls every bird in the wetlands a swamp chicken. I smile as I pull it down off the shelf and decide I’m going to give it to him as an apology for not communicating with him.
Unless it was all a bet. Then, I’m going to rip that book right out of his hands and set fire to him.
Kidding.
I’ll just drive away as quickly as I can and hope I don’t die of embarrassment. But I’m hopeful, because while I’m not the most experienced when it comes to intimacy and love, I know there was a spark of something real between us.
“Hope it’s a good home for you,” I say, brushing the cover.
I have a hard time giving things away. Even inanimate things. What if the new owner doesn’t respect them? What if they…write…in the book? I gulp at that.
But apologies are meant to have weight.
I change into more suitable clothing and cover myself in sunscreen and mosquito repellant. My internal phone line rings, and I’m suddenly anxious when it’s Dean Whitaker’s assistant telling me the dean would like to see me as a matter of urgency to discuss my research.
It takes a few minutes to brush my teeth, drop my things off in my car, and then knock on Dean Whitaker’s door.
When he opens the door, he’s wearing a dove-gray suit and the expression of a man who is not happy to see me.
“Dr. Hart,” he says cooly. “Do you have a moment?”
It’s an obvious question. No, I don’t really because I was on my way to Sunny and my swamp, but seeing as you summoned me, I’m here. “Sure.”
He leads me into his office with its plush cream carpets and wood-paneled walls. “Please, have a seat.”
He gestures to chairs on the other side of the desk as he sits, and I try to bite down on the irritation I feel that he works in such luxury, and I have to beg for every pipette.
“You’ve been busy,” he says, finally.
