Page 2 of Protecting Paige

Will I ever find that person? I don’t know. Maybe.

Or.

Maybe I’ve already found her, but I’m too much of a coward to do anything about it.

Me. A coward. Before I left the Army, I would have laughed at the very idea of it. And now? I won’t even ask out the first woman who’s drawn my interest in years.

With a rueful chuckle, I turn off the water and dry my hands on the towel hanging beside the sink. Then I grab my phone off the counter and head back into the living room, flipping on a few lights to chase away the growing darkness. A glance out the window shows the sun just about to dip below the horizon.

Now that we’re nearly through September, the long days of summer are fading. If I still lived in New York, where I grew up, the leaves would be starting to change. Evenings would bring a crisp bite to the air. Fall would be right there, waiting, with winter close on its heels.

Not for the first time, and I’m sure not the last, I wonder why I’ve stayed in Virginia instead of moving back up north to be closer to my parents. I could start a new business up there. Or find a new job entirely.

But there’s justsomethingthat tells me I should stay here.

Flopping down on the couch, I kick my feet up on the coffee table. I lean forward to reach for the remote, but stop halfway there.

Could I watch the next episode of the new true-crime docuseries on Netflix? Sure.

Or I could call Paige.

It’s not our normal night. I usually call every Wednesday, and it’s only Monday. But I’ve been finding that waiting a week between calls is getting harder and harder.

We’ve never met in person. But six months of weekly calls—often lasting a couple hours or more—makes me feel like I know her.

Talking to Paige is my favorite part of the week.

No, it’s not our normal day to talk. But I could just call to check in. See how her week started off. I know she’s been having a tough time the last few weeks, ever since her much-loved dog, Ghost, passed away. And on the heels of a weekend spent without him, she might be feeling extra down about it.

Worry reaches into my chest, grabbing hold of my heart and twisting.

What if she’s sitting home alone, staring at Ghost’s empty bed, fighting back tears?

What if she’s not okay, like she keeps insisting?

My feet slide to the floor with a thunk. I leave the remote where it is.

The docuseries can wait.

As I dial Paige’s number, a bubble of anticipation swells inside me.

A smile lifts my lips while I wait for her to pick up.

Then.

The call goes through.

Her voice flows across the line—soft and sweet, with a faint hint of huskiness to it.

“Mindful Mediums, this is your medium, Paige, speaking. How can I help you this evening?”

My smile broadens at the sound of her voice. “Hey. It’s Cillian. How are you tonight?”

“Cillian.” Her tone lilts up with pleasure. “I’m good. How are you?”

“Pretty good.” I lean back against the couch cushions. The lingering tension from the day seeps from my shoulders and back. Though it seems impossible, the ache in my knee feels better. “I know it’s not Wednesday, but I was just sitting around, so I thought…”

Shit. That makes it sound like I called her because I was bored. Which is the furthest thing from it.