Page 198 of Tangled with the Tight End

“Yeah? What’s up?”

“There’s a man. He’s across from our house. He has a camera. It’s not a big deal, but he did take pictures of me going into my home.”

“That’s a big deal, Winona. It’s called doxing if your address is leaked. You don’t need this.”

“It did shake me up at first. I’m okay, though. I mean, what’s he going to do with photos of me getting out of my car and walking into my house? It’s not like I was committing a crime. I was coming home from work.”

She doesn’t sound okay. She sounds rattled. And who would blame her?

“I’ll call Kate,” I say. “Do you want me to come over?”

“No. You need to rest your leg.”

“I can rest it at your place as well as I can rest it anywhere.”

“I don’t want to think about this,” she says.

“We can just be together. We don’t have to think about photographers or social media.”

Do I sound desperate? I just want to comfort and protect her. But I’m the cause of her pain. How can the man who brought this mess to her front door be the one to help her through it?

“I’d love to see you,” she says. “I don’t know if that guy is still out there.”

“I’ll wear a ball cap and a hoodie.”

“Yeah. That will totally hide your massive frame. No one will be the wiser.” She laughs softly.

“I’m visiting my girlfriend. So sue me.”

“Okay,” she says. “Did you eat?”

“Not yet. Want me to bring some meals?”

“No. I’ll cook. I’ve got chili and cornbread and salad.”

“I’m calling a driver. I’ll be there in a bit.”

“I can come get you, Declan.”

“No. Stay put. I’ll come to you.”

I call Kate on my way to Winona’s. She tells me the same thing. Ignore. Don’t respond. Don’t provoke. Don’t read or answer the comments. I feel so powerless—it’s a feeling I’m not used to. I hate it. My body practically buzzes with the need to do something.

When I get to Winona’s, I look around. There’s no sign of the paparazzi or whoever the guy was. I get out of the car and head to her door. Winona lets me in and collapses into my arms.

I hold her, smoothing my hand down her hair.

“You okay?” I ask.

“I’m good,” she says. “Better now. It’s just photos. Next time I might make faces. You know? Like this?” She hooks her fingers in either side of her mouth and stretches it wide, crossing her eyes. “I bet they aren’t used to your girlfriends doing that.”

“You’d be the first,” I say, chuckling. “And I haven’t had girlfriends. I’ve dated very few women. I had the occasional date for an event. Ginger. That’s it. And then you came along.”

“Like a wrecking ball,” she teases.

I lean in and place a soft kiss on her lips. “You came in like sunshine.”

I’m the wrecking ball in this scenario.