Page 22 of Secrets in the Deep

Don’t do it, Emi. Don’t make leaving any harder than it has to be.

She listened to the warning. But she didn’t follow it. Like the fool she was, she stepped forward. Once. Twice. Each movement drawing her closer to him. Like he was a magnet and she’d never learned how to resist his pull.

Inside, she frowned at the floral wallpaper beside the staircase.

Unable to resist, she touched it. “This is almost identical to the wallpaper that was in my grandmother’s house.”

A grandmother she’d loved. A grandmother she’d lost during that short phase of dating Ryan. He’d met her. Only once, but that was all it took for the sweet elderly woman to fall in love with him.

Then her grandmother had died, and he’d held Emily while she cried. Listened to her stories. Her sobs.

She blinked and turned to see him frowning at the wallpaper, then at her.

“Are you okay?” she asked softly.

He blinked and tilted his head toward the living room. “Yeah. Come. Sit.”

Were the same memories flicking through his own head?

It didn’t matter. Shestillshouldn’t be here. “No, I?—”

“Sit, Emily. It’s six o’clock. You had a full day at work. You fell into a river. And you’re still limping. Rest.”

She eyed the linen sofa. It looked so much more comfortable than the beige leather couch at the inn. She lowered to the couch, almost sighing as she sank into it.

Yep, it was exactly as comfortable as it looked, and she wasn’t sure she ever wanted to peel herself out of it. For the first time that day, her muscles relaxed.

Without a word, Ryan crossed to the kitchen. He’d always been like that. A man of action rather than words. It was just one of the things she’d liked about him. Another was that he always seemed to know what she needed before she did…until that night.

He took things out of the fridge. The peach tiles in the kitchen made a smile curve her lips. They were in such contrast to the big, masculine, former special operations soldier.

He was in the kitchen for ten minutes. Ten minutes of silence. Ten minutes of this comfortable quiet where they just existed in the same space as she watched him work.

When he finally returned, he handed her a bowl.

Her heart thumped. Macaroni and cheese.Hismacaroni and cheese. “This is my favorite.”

“I know.”

Leave, the voice of warning shouted in her head.Get out before your heart beats for him again.

“How did you know where I live?” he asked, oblivious to her internal battle as he sat beside her, his own bowl in hand.

She swirled the pasta around her bowl. “I told Mom I was going to bed, then snuck down the hall when she went to her room. Bloom was closed but the owner was still there. Polly. I asked her if she knew where you lived.”

“You could have just texted me.”

The fork paused mid-circle, so many words on her lips, but none of them falling out. Because how did she tell him that she’d called and messaged him so many times after their breakup, and his lack of response had rewired her brain in ways she didn’t understand? Now, she could barely look at his name on her phone without this subtle PTSD tweaking her nerves.

She set the bowl on the table, appetite vanishing. “I came to say thank you for today. Thank you for saving me.”

“You don’t need to thank me, Emily. I’ll always jump in after you when you need me.”

She almost flinched, the words like a slap in the face. Either that or the greatest lie he’d ever told. Because shehadneeded him. And he hadn’t jumped in after her. He’d left. Run. Without a backward glance.

“I should go.” She tried to stand but her damn knee buckled. She cried out and dropped back down.

Ryan growled. “Stop trying to run away.” Without a word, he lifted her feet, one at a time, and took off her shoes. Instead of setting her legs back down, he placed them on his lap. Before she realized what he was doing, he shoved up the material of her jeans to look at her left knee.