wouldn't take his eyes off me. The only time he did was when he showed me where to shower and allowed me my privacy. With my stomach full and the warmth of the hot water cascading against my skin, I was beginning to feel whole again. After my shower, I'd pulled on the only things the cop had offered me, a plain white T-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts to sleep in. I'd taken the fresh, clean-smelling clothing gladly before falling into the bed in his guest bedroom, sleeping away my demons.
And now here I was, swimming in his clothes, the smell of pancakes luring me out of bed.
I walked across the hallway to the bathroom first, cleaning myself up before stopping to assess my face in the mirror. Long, dark waves fell loosely over my shoulder, the strands glossier and silkier than they'd ever been with the fancy shampoo I'd used last night. Fingertips traced the dark circles still shadowing my eyes, the rest of my skin a pale, ghostly shade. My collarbones peeked out of the T-shirt, my hipbones from the boxers.
I sighed, thinking I looked like I'd been locked in a closet my entire life, then gave up and left the room, heading down the padded stairwell I faintly remembered being carried up last night, until I reached the first floor. My feet landed on gleaming, polished wood. The hallways in the house were extra-large, the furnishings and trimmings classy with modern flair. I felt like Dorothy dropped in the Twilight Zone, I couldn't be more out of place in a home like this.
I glanced down at my bare feet and up to the front door that opened out onto the street. I could run, if I wanted to avoid questions and hospital trips and official reports. I probably should, but something told me that would be the worst decision. I didn't have clothes, not even a pair of shoes on my feet. I needed help. If I was going to make it alone in this big, bad world I'd need support from generous people. I couldn't be too naïve or too stubborn to turn that away.
I sucked in a fortifying breath and continued down the hallway, following the scent of pancakes on the air. Turning the corner, I finally caught sight of my savior.
The cop who'd come to my door last night, the one who had swept me away to his place and was now making breakfast, stood over the counter, his back turned to me while he flipped pancakes onto a plate.
I opened my mouth, but no words would come out. "Uhm..."
His head whipped around, his ocean-blue eyes stopping any further words from forming. "Mornin'."
I only nodded, my eyes riveted, before fat teardrops trickled down my cheeks.
"Oh, come here. Shit, I'm sorry. I don't know what I did, but I'm sorry." He crossed the kitchen and pulled me into his arms.
"It's just..." I wiped at the tears. "No one's ever made me breakfast before."
"What?" He paused. "Really?" He swiped the tears with the pads of his thumbs and forced me to look at him. I nodded, ashamed of what, I wasn't quite sure. "Well, get used to it. I like taking care of people."
His words froze me in my tracks. I'd never met anyone like him, I'd only known self-serving people, but now that he said it that way...I think I liked taking care of people, too. Maybe I had something in common with my handsome stranger. "I'm sorry, I don't think I remember your name. Last night feels like..." I pushed a hand through my hair, searching for the words.
"The end of a nightmare?" he offered sadly.
"Yeah," I hummed. "Something like that."
"My name is Cage. Cage West, officially.”
His name fit him. His broad shoulders, wide stance, and chiseled jawline gave him a bit of an outlaw look. I liked it. I liked him. "I'm Tessa Talbot."
"I know," he said when I gave him an odd look. "You told me last night. After you fell asleep, I ran your name through the system. Comes up clean. You're not a missing person?"
"No." I shook my head, shocked. "I guess I could see why you'd think that, but Tom is my stepfather. My mom passed away a long time ago and there was no one else to
And now here I was, swimming in his clothes, the smell of pancakes luring me out of bed.
I walked across the hallway to the bathroom first, cleaning myself up before stopping to assess my face in the mirror. Long, dark waves fell loosely over my shoulder, the strands glossier and silkier than they'd ever been with the fancy shampoo I'd used last night. Fingertips traced the dark circles still shadowing my eyes, the rest of my skin a pale, ghostly shade. My collarbones peeked out of the T-shirt, my hipbones from the boxers.
I sighed, thinking I looked like I'd been locked in a closet my entire life, then gave up and left the room, heading down the padded stairwell I faintly remembered being carried up last night, until I reached the first floor. My feet landed on gleaming, polished wood. The hallways in the house were extra-large, the furnishings and trimmings classy with modern flair. I felt like Dorothy dropped in the Twilight Zone, I couldn't be more out of place in a home like this.
I glanced down at my bare feet and up to the front door that opened out onto the street. I could run, if I wanted to avoid questions and hospital trips and official reports. I probably should, but something told me that would be the worst decision. I didn't have clothes, not even a pair of shoes on my feet. I needed help. If I was going to make it alone in this big, bad world I'd need support from generous people. I couldn't be too naïve or too stubborn to turn that away.
I sucked in a fortifying breath and continued down the hallway, following the scent of pancakes on the air. Turning the corner, I finally caught sight of my savior.
The cop who'd come to my door last night, the one who had swept me away to his place and was now making breakfast, stood over the counter, his back turned to me while he flipped pancakes onto a plate.
I opened my mouth, but no words would come out. "Uhm..."
His head whipped around, his ocean-blue eyes stopping any further words from forming. "Mornin'."
I only nodded, my eyes riveted, before fat teardrops trickled down my cheeks.
"Oh, come here. Shit, I'm sorry. I don't know what I did, but I'm sorry." He crossed the kitchen and pulled me into his arms.
"It's just..." I wiped at the tears. "No one's ever made me breakfast before."
"What?" He paused. "Really?" He swiped the tears with the pads of his thumbs and forced me to look at him. I nodded, ashamed of what, I wasn't quite sure. "Well, get used to it. I like taking care of people."
His words froze me in my tracks. I'd never met anyone like him, I'd only known self-serving people, but now that he said it that way...I think I liked taking care of people, too. Maybe I had something in common with my handsome stranger. "I'm sorry, I don't think I remember your name. Last night feels like..." I pushed a hand through my hair, searching for the words.
"The end of a nightmare?" he offered sadly.
"Yeah," I hummed. "Something like that."
"My name is Cage. Cage West, officially.”
His name fit him. His broad shoulders, wide stance, and chiseled jawline gave him a bit of an outlaw look. I liked it. I liked him. "I'm Tessa Talbot."
"I know," he said when I gave him an odd look. "You told me last night. After you fell asleep, I ran your name through the system. Comes up clean. You're not a missing person?"
"No." I shook my head, shocked. "I guess I could see why you'd think that, but Tom is my stepfather. My mom passed away a long time ago and there was no one else to
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