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“I can do it.”

“I’m sure you can. But why would you when you don’t have to?”

“Because it’s my stuff?”

“You don’t take help well.”

“I...” No. I don’t. I’m so used to doing things myself. Mom is always sick and Gran might have been around to help but I was so used to doing for both me and Mom after Dad left that I never really let her. Gran calls me an independent soul, but I have to wonder if I come by that naturally or if it was environment—necessity—that made me this way.

“You’re doing it again.”

“Huh? What?” I focus on Granger’s smile.

“Disappearing into your head.”

“Oh.” My chest deflates on a rushed breath and my shoulders slump a little. “Yeah. I do that a lot. My ex hated⁠—”

Granger lifts a hand, palm facing me. “Do not take anything that prick said to you as truth. He was breaking you down. It’s what bullies do. Make you think you’re not enough or there is something wrong with you, like everything is your fault because of the way you are.”

He steps closer, moves that stop-sign hand to my face. The callused warmth of his skin cradling my jaw sends ripples of delight down to my toes.

“You are perfect just the way you are, and if anyone, and I mean anyone, says differently, they’ll have to deal with me.”

I don’t know what to say. What to think. I know I don’t want to give in to the tears pressing against my eyes. “T-thank you.”

“No thanks necessary.” He watches me for another few seconds then lowers his hand. “I’ll go get those veggies sorted.”

The loss of his warmth has a chill rattling through me. But it’s nothing compared to the panic that races through my veins as he walks away.

He’s not going anywhere. Just downstairs. He isn’t leaving me alone to fend for myself. And yet, my gut instinct is to follow. To stay close.

My gaze lands on the open door beside the closed doors of Granger’s bedroom. I don’t know if it’s the right thing to do, if being so close to him will make whatever this thing between us worse or better.

All I know is I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep if I choose any other room.

Walking over, I stand in the doorway and study the bedroom. It has a queen bed with what looks like hand-carved head and foot boards; a plush bedspread and multiple pillows cover the mattress. A rocking chair carved from the same timber as the bed sits by a floor to ceiling window; the cushion and blanket placed on it are the same material and pattern as the bedding.

The whole room invites you in, makes you want to curl up in the chair or on the bed to read or nap or just be. Whoever decorated this room knew what they were doing.

Glancing over my shoulder, I take in the other bedroom doors. Each of those rooms were just as inviting as this one. They would be more than adequate for my stay.

Except I can’t bring myself to take any of them.

As much as it worries me, the thought of being that far from Granger makes me feel sick. Panicky. Like I’m alone and as much as I’m used to feeling that way, for the first time in my life I don’t want to.

I want to take this man’s help and support because he makes me feel strong. Like I can deal with what my ex is doing and do it without fear scorching my veins.

Relying on Granger isn’t fair to him, but I can’t bring myself to refuse his help—refuse him.

When this is all over, when my ex is no longer a threat, I’ll make sure to pay Granger back for everything he’s done and doing.

“That the one?”

With a little squeak, I jolt forward. “Shoot. I didn’t hear you come upstairs.”

“Sorry. I’m so used to avoiding the creaky steps, I didn’t think about scaring you.” He moves past me into the bedroom I haven’t entered and places my bags on the bed. “Take your time getting settled. Dinner will be about forty-five minutes. Come down whenever you’re ready.”

All I can do is nod. The lump in my throat is no longer from fear. It’s from the sight of Granger’s muscular arms rippling as he lifted my bags and put them on the bed.