Page 4 of Protecting Paige

I laugh. “Oh, no. Not a squirrel.”

“Yup. The two of them tried to take off after it, and we all ended up in a pile on the sidewalk.”

A sliver of worry niggles in. “Are you okay? You didn’t get hurt, did you?”

Her voice warms. “I’m okay.”

“Good.” I roll my neck. “How are you holding up? With Ghost…”

A soft sigh escapes before she says, “It’s hard. I miss him. Even though everyone says he lived a long life… It doesn’t help. Not really.”

“Paige.”Suddenly I’m seized with the urge to make the forty-minute drive to her house—wherever it is—and give her a hug. To rub her back and look at photos of Ghost and anything else I can do to make her feel better. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“No, it’s okay. We’re friends. That’s what friends do. Check on each other when they’re concerned.” She stops. “Is that presumptuous? Saying we’re friends? I feel like we are.”

“Of course we are.” It’s quick. Adamant. “I absolutely think of you as a friend.”

And sometimes—a lot of times, really—I wish we were more. But I keep holding back from pursuing anything beyond our phone calls. Partly because I don’t want her to feeluncomfortable about it; this guy who calls a psychic hotline asking her to meet up. And partly—the cowardly part—I’m afraid she’ll see my scars and be disappointed.

If I told any of my old Army buddies about my worries, they’d encourage me to take the chance, anyway. Niall, Hawk, Xavier, Rhiannon, Knox—they all faced their fears of rejection and came away better for it. All happily married, they’d insist the risk is worth taking.

I know they’re right. It’s just…

“Good.” Paige’s voice softens. “I’m glad.” A few seconds pass. “Cillian?” It’s almost uncertain. “Can I ask you something?”

I sit up straight. “Anything.”

“Well.” She hesitates again. “I’m not supposed to ask this. But…”

Alarm surges through me. My muscles tense. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. It’s just… We’ve been talking for six months now. And I don’t feel right taking your money for it. Well. Only forty percent of it, really. But still?—”

“Forty percent? You only get forty percent?” I’ve never minded paying for the calls, and it made me feel good, honestly, that I was helping Paige in some small way to get her new dog walking business off the ground. But forty percent of one dollar is only forty cents a minute, which works out to twenty-four dollars an hour… It’s not bad, by any means. But it’s not what I thought she got, either.

“Yeah. After a year, it goes up to fifty,” she replies. “But it’s okay. It’s just to help with marketing expenses, really. And insurance…”

Swallowing back my annoyance, I force my mind back to the topic at hand. Or rather, the unspoken question at hand. “What did you want to ask?”

“Right.” She laughs nervously. “So… I don’t want to keep taking your money.”

Alarm shoots through me. “Do you want me to stop calling?”

“No!” It bursts out; louder than I expected. More softly, she adds, “No. I was just thinking, maybe I could give you my actual number? And we could talk that way instead? Unless you’d feel weird about it. I understand if you do. In fact, forget I said?—”

All at once, I’m filled with a fizzy, hopeful sort of joy. “I would really like that, Paige. As long as you’re sure.”

She exhales. “I’m sure.” After a moment, she adds, “Maybe we could text, too. You could send me photos of your next hike, if you feel comfortable.”

I’m well aware texting photos of nature isn’t far from sending photos of myself, which opens a whole new can of worms, but it doesn’t stop me from saying, “That sounds great, Paige. And maybe you could send me pictures of the backsplash you just installed. Or a photo of Ghost. I’d really like to see him.”

“Cillian.”

“You don’t have to?—”

“No, I would love to.” Her tone brightens. “How about if you give me your number? And I’ll call you now?”

I’m grinning like a damn loon as I say, “That sounds perfect.”