Too Good to Be True - Kristan Higgins [71]
“Getting shot is the whole point,” I said. My smile felt forced.
When I got home, I stashed my groceries, took a box of tampons away from Angus and gave him a chew stick instead, poured a healthy glass of wine and went up to the attic with my uniform. Did I usually stow my uniform in the attic? Well, no, not until winter, usually, but it seemed like a good idea tonight. And I left the light off, because I knew the way by heart.
He was there. Callahan O’Shea was back on the roof, hands clasped behind his head, looking up at the sky.
We met when I clocked him with my field hockey stick. I thought he was robbing the house next door. Turned out he wasn’t, simply a guy on his first night out of prison. What for, you ask? Oh, he stole over a million dollars.
Sighing, I tore myself away from the view and went back downstairs. Pictured Wyatt Dunn coming home, hugging me, resting his cheek against my hair. Angus wouldn’t bite him or even bark. We’d sit down in my seldom-used dining room, and I’d pour him a glass of wine, and he’d ask to hear about my students, and I’d cheer him up by telling him about how I divided the class into Confederates and Union citizens and made them debate why their side was right, how the entire Southern side spoke in drawls and got the giggles when Emma Kirk said, “Fiddle-dee-dee.”
So intense was my little daydream that when a knock came on the door, I almost expected it to be Wyatt, that I somehow conjured him. Angus went into his yapping frenzy, so I picked him up and peeked. It was Callahan O’Shea, down from the roof. My face went lava-hot.
“Hi,” I said, clutching my dog, who growled fiercely.
“Hi,” Callahan said, leaning in the doorway.
“Everything okay?” It was dark, after all.
“Yup.” He just looked at me from those denim-blue eyes, and I noticed for the first time that his irises were flecked with gold. His shirt was a soft green, and the smell of freshly cut wood drifted toward me.
“What can I do for you?” I asked, my voice husky.
“Grace.”
“Yes?” I breathed.
“I want you to stop spying on me,” he said.
Dang it! I sucked in a guilty breath. “Spying? I’m not… I…I don’t…”
“From the attic. Do you have a problem with me being up on my roof?”
“No! I just was…” Hrrrr. Hrrrr. Yarp! Angus was struggling to get out of my arms, giving me a great excuse to stall. “Hang on a second. Or just come in. I have to put Angus in the cellar.”
I stashed Angus, took a few deep breaths, then turned to face my neighbor, who stood just inside the doorway, a sarcastic eyebrow raised. If eyebrows could be sarcastic, that is.
“Cal, I was just putting some things away up there. I saw you and yes, I wondered what you were doing out there, okay? I’m sorry.”
“Grace, we both know that you’ve been spying. Just knock it off.”
“Well, someone has quite an ego, doesn’t he?” I said. “I was putting away my general’s uniform. Go upstairs and check if you want.” Angus barked from the cellar, backing me up.
Callahan took a step closer and looked down at me—literally and figuratively, I imagined. His eyes wandered to my hair, then… oh, God… to my mouth. “Here’s what I want to know,” he said. “Why does that boyfriend of yours leave you alone so damn much?” His voice was soft.
My whole body responded with a giant, hot, pulsating throb. “Oh…well…” My voice was breathy. “I’m not sure that’s gonna work out. We’re, um… reevaluating.”
Tell him you’re free, Grace. Just say you and Wyatt broke up.
I didn’t. Honestly, it was just too scary. My entire body was quivering with Callahan’s nearness, and fear. Fear that he was playing me, all too aware that I was a heartbeat away from wrestling him to the floor and ripping off his clothes.
That stirring image