LITMIR.BIZ

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comment made Reagan smile, she couldn’t understand. But it did, and she fought it. Hid it. Covered it up with her hand, turned her head. “Being called cute stopped affecting me a long, long time ago,” she said.

      “Yeah,” Eric answered. His voice sounded light, as though covering up a laugh. “I can tell. Now stop stalling, Reagan Rose. You have turned me down every single time I’ve stopped by this week. I can’t take one more rejection. I just can’t.” A thud sounded against the door frame, accompanied by an exaggerated sigh. “In case you’re wondering, that’s my forehead hitting the wood. Out of epic frustration. And now I’m making a sincerely adorable puppy face. You comin’ or aren’t ya?”

      “You’re overacting,” Reagan muttered under her breath, still fighting a grin. “All right. Under one condition I will come with you.”

      “Yes! Name it,” Eric said.

      Reagan stared in the direction of his shadowy form. “That you leave. Me. Alone.”

      “Whoa, now,” he added. “Let’s make an amendment here.”

      Reagan waited.

      “If—and I stress the word if—you don’t completely and utterly enjoy the absolute hell out of yourself today, I’ll back off.”

      “I didn’t say back off,” she corrected. “I said, leave alone. As in stop coming over here, trying to convince me that I need to get out of the house.”

      “Well, that’s nigh to impossible, don’t you think? Seeing as how we’re practically family and all?”

      She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Why do you care if I’m just sitting over here staring at the walls?”

      Another heavy sigh. “Do you have a fork? Ice pick? Can opener? I’d like to poke my eyes out now, please. Out of epic frustration.”

      Reagan’s lip twitched. Just a fraction. “That’s a really nice thing to say to a blind person. And, you say the word epic a lot.”

      “Ha! I saw that!” Eric said excitedly. “And epic is a grand word indeed. And, I’m not joking about your blindness. I’m simply expressing my extreme annoyance with you. Now quit your stalling, girl, and come on. I mean it, Reagan.”

      With a sigh of defeat, she pushed open the screen door. “Come on in. I’ll just be a sec.”

      “Holy God, wait. Do you hear that?” Eric said, his steps falling across the wood planks as he eased inside.

      She stopped and strained her ears. She heard absolutely nothing. “What?”

      “It’s the sound of ice cracking.” He chuckled. “From around your heart.”

      She shook her head and made her way down the hall. “So glad to know you turned out to be such an Irish American comedian.”

      “I’m a natural, too. Don’t you think?” he called after her, in a heavy Irish accent.

      “Whatever, Lucky Charms.” Reagan just shook her head, stepped into the bathroom and closed the door. Eric’s whistling and footfalls as he moved around the living room echoed through the wood, and she shook her head yet again. What was it with him? It irritated her that he could coax—and so easily, so it seemed—a smile from her. Like, irritated the absolute hell out of her. Why?

      Truth be told, she’d wanted to try to pull her weight a little more and thought she’d make an attempt at dinner for her and Em. Perhaps going to the grocery store wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Basic ingredients for say, spaghetti, couldn’t be that hard. Could they? Running a brush through her hair, she tied it into a ponytail, brushed her teeth, and made her way into her room where she quickly pulled a pair of shorts and a tank from her dresser, felt for her Converse sneakers, and slipped her bag over her shoulder.

      She could do this. This...grocery shopping with Eric Malone.

      Practically family. Right? He didn’t really feel very familial.

      With a deep breath she made her way back to the living room.

      “Your shirt’s inside out.”

      Reagan froze.

      “And...you have on two different-colored sneakers.”

      For a split second, embarrassment burned the skin at her throat in a hot flush. But only for a split second. She narrowed her gaze. “Liar. As if I’d trust you, the practical joker.”

      “No, Reagan, really—”

      “Just come on before I change my mind,” Reagan interrupted. Was he always the perpetual clown?

      “Whatever you say, ma’am,” he complied, chuckling.

      The air shifted as Eric moved ahead of her, and she noticed he smelled...good. Clean, like some kind of zesty, piney guy soap. The screen door creaked, and she knew he was holding it open for her. “Thanks,” she muttered, and eased through and onto the porch. Immediately, she lifted her hand, feeling the air to find the pillar. Tapping her stick to make sure she didn’t trip.

      But a warm pressure settled against her lower back as Eric placed his hand there, guiding her. “Almost to the end,” he said.

      “I know,” she answered, and felt the post with her palm. Shame coursed through her. Why in the hell did he feel the need to baby her? If she fell, she fell. So what? Falling would be better than feeling incapable.

      Finally, she felt the ground beneath her feet, and she strained her eyes to try to pick out the shadowy form of a vehicle. Before she could, though, Eric applied pressure to her lower back once more and guided her. A door creaked open.

      “Up you go,” he said cheerfully, and Reagan felt for the seat, then placed her foot inside and rose up. “I borrowed Jep’s old truck. Watch your feet,” he warned, and the door creaked and slammed shut.

      Reagan felt for the seat belt but couldn’t find it. In the next second, the heat from Eric’s body leaning over her made her suck in a breath.

      “Here, I’ll get that,” he said, and he was close, and his hands brushed her shoulder, then the belt snugged against her. A metal click sounded, and his warmth left.

      “Ready?” he asked.

      “As I’ll ever be,” she answered.

      With a laugh, Eric turned over the engine, revved the motor, and the truck began to move. The wind blew in from the open window, tossing Reagan’s ponytail. The air felt heavy, as though rain loomed overhead. The pungent brine wafted in, and she wiggled her nose.

      “It’s definitely an acquired smell,” Eric commented. “So. Reagan Rose Quinn,” he started. “It’s a gorgeous day.”

      Reagan kept her face turned toward the open window. Shadows flashed by, abstract, undeterminable. “So you’ve said. Although it smells like rain.”

      “Right.” He chuckled. “Rain’s great, too, don’t you think? Liquid sunshine. What I mean to say is, what do you see?”

      Had Eric Malone lost his mind? “Have you been eating sketchy mushrooms, Malone? I see shadows. Dark blurry forms. Nothing else. We went over this already, remember?”

      Again, he chuckled. “Really? That’s it? You’re just doomed to a life of haze and darkness?”

      Exasperated, Reagan blew out a sigh. “What’s your problem?”

      “I, my beautiful but testy neighbor, have zero problems at the moment. Except your mule head. Now, think. Use your other senses and tell me what you see.”

      Reagan rolled her eyes. “Please don’t do that.”

      “Do what?”

      She shook her head and faced the window. “Don’t...try to be my Mr. Miyagi. My therapist.”

      “That’s not what I’m

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