Page 78 of The Darkest Chase
Micah was right.
They’re connected.
And I need to get back to town and tell him ASAP.
When I text Micah and tell him I’m out, and I think I have something, I’m not expecting the text I get back nearly instantly.
Micah: My place. 8 p.m.
Blinking, I shiver for different reasons as I make my way into town, taking the long way to stretch my legs and calm down. The last time I went to Micah’s place, he very conspicuously kept me from going inside.
Is he actually going to let me into his man cave this time?
…I hope so.
Just because suddenly, desperately, I want to be near him. He makes me feel safe. He makes me feel clean.
Everything I need to scrub away the taint of Xavier’s company.
I’m on edge the rest of the day.
By the time evening rolls around, I’m a nervous wreck.
It’s just another business meeting.
Nothing personal.
I drop things, mess up sketches, send my pencils rolling across the drafting table. Luckily, when I got back to the shop, Grandpa was back to his old lucid self.
The whole afternoon, I can feel him watching with a thoughtful eye, though he keeps his observations to himself.
I don’t know what I’d do with him teasing me about my jitters.
Have I mentioned I have near zero experience with men?
I need to remember that.
The fact that I’m not used to men who aren’t family means I’m overly sensitive and likely to read more than I should into things.
So I need to stop thinking about how even though Micah almost never smiles, it always feels like he’s laughing over text. How he tries to pass himself off as this human icicle, but he’s so gentle with me, so sweet, and even funny in his own dry way. How he’s a good man for caring about stopping the harm the Jacobins’ drug business causes so many.
How it’s not hard to tell the death of his brother broke him.
I definitely have no business wanting to cradle those small pieces of him in my hands and soothe their sharp edges.
After we close up shop for the day, I have an early dinner with Grandpa, then bounce to my feet and head for my room.
“Don’t wait up,” I tell him. “I’m going out this evening. Should be back by ten.”
He watches me from the kitchen table with his thick brows raised, working at a bit of whittling. That’s how he fell in love with woodwork a lifetime ago, starting with these small things.
The piece he’s shaping now looks like a sparrow.
He’s so good that he doesn’t even have to look at the knife in his hand while he asks, “Date tonight, Tally?”
I nearly trip over empty air and catch myself on the doorframe to my room.
“N-no!” I sputter. “Just meeting a friend. To hang out.”