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  Of course, he could already tell she wasn't vapid just by the snippet he heard. He stepped through the hallway opening and scanned the large, over-stocked room until he found her. Well, zero for zero on that theory.

  She wasn't tall, not short either. Just average. Maybe five-six or five-seven. She wasn't blond either. She had light brown hair that fell just past her shoulders, which moved freely as she turned her head to scan the shelf. And she wasn't stacked either. But she was, in his opinion, sexy as hell. She had perfect curves, and his now hyper-focused brain was measuring them. Then she turned further around, and his heart stopped, mouth dropping open.

  He was looking at her face again. He clamped his jaw shut and swallowed. Her frustratingly beautiful face. A face he'd seen far too often behind his eyes over the last three weeks, despite his desperate attempts to forget it. The face that had kept him warm and chilled him to the core. He winced at the fresh memory of her cut, and the sling on her arm made his chest hurt.

  Going to the hospital had been a mistake, one he'd berated himself for countless times. He'd kept his distance since, done all the right things to keep her safe by staying out of her orbit.

  Then a thought occurred to him. He looked a fair bit cleaner today. He even shaved. So, if he was lucky, maybe she wouldn't recognize him. As if he could ever be lucky in anything. His heart slammed, and he scowled and squared his shoulders. There was only one way to handle this.

  “Can I help you, ma'am?” His voice took on a growl he hadn't intended, and he cleared his throat.

  She had been looking down at the large, over-priced floodlight in her hand when her face shot up. Her eyes widened in shock, and her perfect, pouty mouth fell open. She snapped it shut as she swallowed, and he couldn't even process the thought that she might remember what he sounded like.

  In an illogical, frustrating, irritating, and annoying move, his heart skipped a beat, and his stomach fluttered. Unacceptable. The fact that something like that was even happening to him was beyond the realm of reasonable, and he furrowed his brow in response to his agitation. She exhaled a short breath and didn't move, eyes still wide.

  He didn't move either, afraid to give anything away. Afraid if he twitched a muscle, he’d storm around the counter, grab her, and kiss her until she passed out. Or he did. Or both.

  She took a tentative step toward him as she tried to smooth down her distractingly tight skirt with her non-sling covered hand, which was still holding the floodlight.

  Great. Now her toned legs were all he could think about.

  He battled to maintain composure as she walked straight up to the counter, not three feet in front of him. Why did she have to be so damn beautiful? Her eyes were exactly as he remembered. When the light hit them, they sparked and sent a single chill down his spine. He swallowed again. Not good.

  She placed the floodlight down beside the register, nearly missing since she hadn't taken her eyes off him.

  If he could have scowled any harder, he would have. He wanted her. Right then. Wanted to take her to the back room and—He shifted uncomfortably on his feet and swallowed yet again. They stood there like that for another few seconds before she cleared her throat and flattened her hand on the counter. Her manicured nails were like gems resting on top of her graceful fingers.

  And he was getting really, really pissed at himself.

  “Hi.”

  Her smooth, warm voice cut through his brain, and his nostrils flared as he sucked in a breath. Thank God he hadn't known how sexy her regular voice was. She had been in his head enough as it was, making all sorts of noises. When he'd heard her before she'd been screaming, then been doped on pain meds. Sexily groggy.

  He wanted to ask how she was doing. How she was healing. How the hospital had treated her. If she really did like the flowers. How much longer she'd be in the sling. If she was having a tough time working, assuming she did. If she needed any help. If they had given her stitches or if they used that surgical glue. If they had to give her lots of blood. If there was any muscle damage. If she was going to rehab. If she liked sushi. He scowled away the smile that tried to form when he remembered her aversion to fish.

  “Yes, ma'am? What can I do for you?”

  He cleared his throat, and she blinked a few times, her previously inviting expression falling into heartsick confusion. Great, now he hated himself again. Why couldn’t anything just be easy? She tapped her middle nail on the counter twice before her hand slid down in defeat over the edge to fall to her side.

  “You . . . I just . . . wanted to thank you. Again.”

  She swallowed hard and shook her head in a small, short movement. It made her hair bounce around her shoulders which slung the smell of her vanilla shampoo across the counter and straight into his nose.

  Considering that was his single favorite scent in the entire world, he was proud of the fact that he hadn't jumped across the counter. She leveled her gaze and those frustrating, engulfing amber eyes started to shine at the edges. Complicating things further.

  Damn it, Scarlet . . .

  Scarlet

  Why was he acting like that?

  Maybe he didn't remember her. Maybe he went around saving so many women that they all blurred together. Or he suffered from random bouts of amnesia. Otherwise, there really wasn't an explanation that didn't make her stomach drop. His hazel eyes faltered several times as his throat bobbed.

  No. He remembered. He just wanted to pretend like it never happened. The crushing pain in her chest nearly stole her breath. How could one person cause so much pain so quickly?

  And why was he working here of all places? A bit hard to reconcile a manager in a hardware store keeping so calm and collected. Or knowing how to hit someone with a gun precisely enough to knock him out.

  Every fantasy scenario her stupid, lonely brain created over the last three weeks about how it might go down if she got to see him again seemed even more ridiculous now than they had before. He dropped his gaze to the tiled floor, and she chewed her lip.

  There should have been some witty exchange, or a heartfelt confession or two. He didn't even ask how she'd been doing. She wanted to ask him why he couldn't stay, though apparently, she wasn't going to get any answers, let alone that one. But there wasn't a warm embrace, a cool embrace, or even a handshake for God's sake. Nothing like what you hear about between those who rescue and those they rescued. He winced and cast his eyes to the ceiling.

  What made the outright rejection worse was that he was even more attractive than she remembered. Even though he had a severe, almost predatory expression that he’d worn that night as well as now. And yet to see him across the counter, acting like he didn't recognize her gnawed at the edges of her heart.

  “I . . .”

  God, she didn't even know where to start. Where to end. What to say or do with herself. She hadn't in a million years imagined this. Maybe she could make him talk about it. Make him admit he knew her. She spoke softly, forcing the waver from her voice, and picked at leftover sticker residue on the edge of the counter.

  “They caught the other guy too, the one that ran . . . he confessed to several other muggings . . . so . . . you really did save the day. Especially for me . . .”

  She flicked her eyes back up to him and caught his eyebrows pinched up in sadness and regret, milliseconds before he scowled it away. It made her heart stutter, and she blinked at him.

  “Nick . . .”

  His eyes went wide, and he sucked in a deep breath through his nose. She chewed on the inside of her lip as she tried to process that reaction, and he closed his eyes. He reached out and snagged the light bulb.

  She watched as he jammed several buttons on the register which launched the drawer open. The same fingers he had used with such care on her. That stroked her face. He slammed it shut and snagged the receipt that printed. He avoided looking at her face altogether and stood with his hands on his hips, a pained look barely hidden. She didn’t even try
to hide hers, as she swallowed hard around the lump in her throat.

  “Okay. I . . . get it. Sorry to bother you. I guess.”

  He cut his eyes to her as she swatted a tear from her cheek and offered him a forced smile. His mouth dropped open a little, and the scowl left his face, replaced with heartache and something else she didn't recognize.

  She wouldn’t waste any time trying to figure it out, or him. She wouldn’t waste the excruciating flutter this new expression caused in her, either. She took two steps back from the counter, turned on her heel and walked out, leaving the bag right where it sat.

  There were other hardware stores. Maybe one of them wasn’t staffed with hauntingly attractive, emotionally unavailable men who were in denial about what they'd done. Or who they'd saved.

  Her heart tripped as she stepped through the door and out onto the sidewalk, the double ding of the entry bell like a gong in her head. Behind her, she wanted to leave every fantasy concocted, every stray thought about what today might have been or meant. And him. She would spend time finding other things to think about. Other than him.

  Unable to resist a final surge of hope, she glanced through one of the windows as she passed, but he wasn't at the counter.

  Figured.

  He probably retreated to a back room, where he stashed all the things he tried to pretend never happened. She swallowed and shook her head as she walked. So much for not thinking about him again.

  She reached the edge of the building and stopped at the crosswalk. Folding her arms, she glanced down at several pieces of mushed up paper that had pooled at the corner of the sewer drain from last night’s rain. She frowned. Now she had to drive all the way across town.

  She glared at the red 'Don't Walk' light and took a deep breath that filled her lungs with warm, damp air. Maybe their prices would be a little lower. Forty-seven dollars was a bit ridiculous.

  The 'Don't Walk' sign stayed frozen, locking her in place and keeping her from running away. She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. She hated those things. They were always either too long or too short, and always inconvenient. One day someone would invent—

  “Scarlet.”

  Her eyes shot open, and every bit of air left her lungs. That unmistakable deep, dark, deliciously firm voice vibrated straight through her. She spun on her heel and locked eyes with him. In that one word, he confirmed, out loud, that he knew her. That he did remember. He said her name. And it sounded amazing.

  He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand and looked both ways up the sidewalk before he settled his eyes back on her. She scanned the length of him and swallowed.

  His dark wash denim jeans fit like they were made for him. He had brown leather boots, a matching belt, and he was wearing a tucked in light blue button-down shirt with the sleeves shoved up his forearms. Everything he had on was sexy. At least, as far as she was concerned. And she wanted it all gone.

  They stood, eyes locked, for several seconds before she noticed the bag in his hand. The light bulb bag.

  Oh.

  He took a few long strides forward and stopped mere inches from her, his height forcing her chin up to keep eye contact. Oh God, his cologne smelled like everything good and wonderful in the world. It was a sweet, woodsy scent that made her stomach flutter. She tried to exhale but failed. If she leaned juuust a little further over, she’d be pressed right against him.

  His pupils dilated, and she held her breath, waiting for him to say something. Anything.

  The muscles in his jaw jumped as he scanned her face. What was he doing? His brow creased again, causing the now familiar deep depressions. Surely, he didn't follow her out here just to hand her a free light bulb.

  He drew in the side of his mouth as he exhaled through his nose and took a half-step backward. His chin tucked, and before she could react, he gently picked up her free hand by the wrist like he was afraid to touch her. A shockwave shot through her arm, and her heart skipped.

  The rough patches on his hand mixed with the heat radiating from him were almost too much for her to handle. At that point, she was so keyed up, about forty-five more seconds of that, and she’d be done for.

  He paused when their skin touched, then placed the straps of the bag firmly against her palm, still looking down. Her hand reflexively closed, and she swallowed.

  He was touching her. He took a breath but didn't release her wrist, his skin scalding hot. He was still touching her! A shiver ran down her spine. She watched as his throat bobbed, and she tightened her grip on the bag.

  “Scarlet. Do you—”

  He started, but shook his head and looked over his right shoulder, casting his eyes to the sky. He must have realized he was still holding her wrist and pulled his hand back to rub his neck with it.

  What did he come out here to say? Was he coming to apologize for earlier? To chat about everything? Maybe he wanted to get to know her better or get coffee. Or something else entirely. She desperately crossed her mental fingers that it was something else entirely. Her brain scrambled from his scent and the leftover sensation of his rough hand on her wrist and Oh God, Nick! Say something!

  “ . . . have a ladder?”

  She blinked several times in rapid succession and tilted her head, regarding him like he'd grown another head. There was no way he had actually asked what it sounded like he asked. That didn’t sound anything like ‘would you like to go on a date?’.

  “What?”

  He gestured weakly to the bag in her hand, then rubbed his eyes with his right hand as he scrunched up his face. Was that embarrassment? Her heart skipped again.

  “That's a big bulb. For a security light, I'm guessing. If it's up high . . . you'll . . . need a ladder.” He exhaled and jammed his tongue against the inside of his closed mouth, shaking his head.

  He did ask that. As ridiculous a question as could have come at this moment. This too could be added to the list of things she could never have imagined would happen when they met again.

  “Um. Yes?”

  She hadn’t gotten that far in her thought process. She only had full use of one arm at the moment. How the hell was she planning on climbing a ladder and installing a new bulb? She could ask one of the neighbors to do it, but that would be admitting defeat. There was no way she was gonna ask for help. Come hell or high water, she'd figure out a way to do it alone, or it wouldn't get changed. End of story.

  “I could install it for you,” he blurted.

  “That would be great; I could actually really use the help, thank you!”

  She closed her eyes and took a quick breath in. Way to sound desperate. That was the fastest she had ever accepted an offer of help. Ever. When she reopened them, his face radiated irritation and amusement, oddly enough. She smiled and quipped, hoping to break the sudden, odd tension.

  “But I don't want you to feel obligated just because you shunned me back there like I ate the last donut.”

  A massive, beautiful smile spread across his face before his chest erupted in a few short, warm, and surprisingly happy laughs. It made her heart stop and start. She hadn't, until that point, been convinced he remembered how to smile, or that his face could do anything other than glower. It was breathtaking and she had a feeling it was a precious, rarely seen gift. His smile died down, and he rubbed the side of his face then shook his head.

  “Sorry. I hadn't figured out what I was gonna do if I saw you again. Apparently . . . it’s install a lightbulb for you.”

  He shared a short, sweet smile with her, and she nearly exploded from joy. After he glanced over his shoulder a few times, he raised his eyebrows at her questioningly.

  “So, you live near here?”

  Why did he want to know that? It's not like he—oh duh. She set the bag down on the ground to free up her hand so she could nervously tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear. He watched, an amused and bewildered look on his face as she grabbed the bag again. She cleared her throat and smiled.r />
  “Sorry. Yeah, it's not far from here. If you want, I can text you the address, it'll be easier than you trying to follow me through this traffic.”

  His expression melted, revealing that familiar frown. No no, why was that happening?

  “No, I'll follow.”

  He deepened the frown as he shook his head.

  “Or, you know what . . . it's . . ."

  He backed away from her, and she froze. What was he doing? What was happening? Why weren’t they on the way to her house to do all sorts of things not in any way related to installing a light bulb?!

  “Listen, you're welcome, okay? You don't need to get involved . . . with me. It’s not—” he winced and rubbed his upper arm before linking his fingers behind his neck. “Take care, Scarlet. It was . . . I'm glad I got to see you.”

  With that, he turned around and stormed back toward the door. He muttered angrily to himself as he flung it open and threw himself in, leaving her with nothing but the sound of the door chime. And a free lightbulb. She stood there motionless, watching the entire spectacle like it was a bad movie.

  One that she very much wished she could pretend never happened.

  Scarlet

  Sleep had been hard to come by the past few days. Six of them, to be exact. Well, five and a half. But who was counting?

  The minutes ticked by as she drummed her pen on the desk, with her cheek resting on her palm. It was nice to be free to use her hand and arm again. Still sore but getting better every day.

  She held a small death ceremony for her sling after all. She and Katelyn shared a bottle of zinfandel as they watched it burn from the Adirondack-style chairs around their fire pit. John had actually been home for a change, but they were a bit different with each other, so Scarlet had opted to sit outside. A distracted Katelyn joined her shortly thereafter.