He shakes his head as if laughing at himself, but when he meets my eyes, there’s a lightness in his expression. “I’m glad too, Liberty Bell.” Killian leans in and peers at me. “We cool now?”

He sounds so hopeful—and a bit unsure—that the last vestiges of anger toward him leave me. I fear that too. Anger is a wall I’ve built to protect myself. I know this. What I don’t know is how to protect myself from hurt without it. But I want to try.

I find a smile. “We’re cool.”

Chapter Five

Libby

We’re friends. I don’t know how it happened. I was all set to hate Killian, but he’s wormed his way under my skin with embarrassingly little effort. Maybe because, as the days pass, he never really leaves. Somehow he’s around for breakfast the next morning¸ then ends up hanging out with me all day until it’s night again. Or maybe because I’ve sunk into a pattern of enjoying his company and then waiting until he returns to me. I swear, I seem to be waiting for him even in my sleep, my thoughts consumed with all things Killian—what is he doing? What’s he thinking now? When’s he coming over again?

The annoying thing is that I was perfectly content before he came. My life had a pattern and was comfortable. Reliable. Now, it’s anything but. Everything is driven by this push of anticipation for him.

I tell myself it isn’t really my fault. I don’t think there’s a person on Earth capable of resisting the man. Killian is a peacock in a world of sparrows. He catches the eye and holds it. Oddly, it isn’t even about looks. Killian’s features are bold and strong; he’s good looking, sure, but not extraordinary. And yet he is, because whatever makes Killian Killian lights him up and draws people in like a candle in the dark.

Proof positive I’m not the only one affected? Grumpy old Mrs. Nellwood is currently beaming at Killian like he’s her favorite grandson, even though he’s rifling through her store and making a general ruckus.

Killian has dragged me away from work and into town. I hate going to town, but he whined and pouted, then grinned and poked at my ribs until I agreed to give him a ride.

“You’re not gonna make me walk all that way, are you, Libby?” he’d said with that lopsided smile of his, the one that causes little crinkles to form at the corners of his dark eyes. “It’s got to be, what? At least a mile. Maybe two.”

“You’re a fit young man. You’ll survive.”

“I’m new to the area. I could get lost. Next thing you know, I’m half-starved, and in my weakened condition, I could be eaten by wild, rabid bunnies.”

“Bunnies?” I hadn’t wanted to laugh but did anyway. “Of all the animals, you go with bunnies?”

“Have you ever looked in a bunny’s eyes, Libs? They’re just waiting for their chance to dominate. Why do you think they’re always so twitchy?”

“Because they’re freaked something’s going to eat them for dinner?”

“Nope. They’re plotting. It’s just a matter of time before they make their move. Mark my words.”

So here we are, in Nellwood’s General Store, Killian all but hopping from shelf to shelf, intent, it seems, on touching everything. “Oh, shit,” he drawls. “Look at this, Libs.”

He picks up a red trucker hat and tries it on. “What do you think?”

Of course he looks good in it. Even with his long, tangled hair. In truth, he’s like a hot trucker. It doesn’t help that his faded black Star Wars T-shirt clings to his chest and displays his tight biceps with loving care. Disturbed fantasies involving a big rig and a truck stop parking lot fill my head, and I have to give myself a mental slap to focus on the question at hand.

His grin is one of goofy happiness, and I can’t help but smile back. “It’s totally you. In fact, you really should buy one in every color they have.”

Killian points at me. “You’re getting one too.”

“Yeah, no.”

“It’ll protect your skin from that sunburn threat you keep going on about.”

Behind the counter, Mrs. Nellwood titters. “So sweet, looking out for you. Liberty, dear, who is your young man?”

My man? Gah.

Under the brim of his hat, Killian’s dark brows waggle, though he manages to keep a straight face while he does it.

“This is my new neighbor…” I glance at him and realize I have no idea what his last name is. Good God, I’ve let a virtual stranger into my life. And become way too attached to him at that.

Killian doesn’t look at me, so he’s oblivious to my panic as he steps to the counter and extends his hand. “Killian, ma’am. I’m renting the Cromley place for a few months.”

Mrs. Nellwood preens, her white bun trembling. “Welcome to Collar Island, Mr. Scott.”

Killian frowns as if confused. “Mr. Scott?”

Mrs. Nellwood’s pale blue eyes are shrewd. “I thought a Mr. Scott was the name on the rental agreement. Was I mistaken?”

Killian’s back stiffens in surprise. He clearly hadn’t understood the busybody nature of a small town. But he recovers quickly and gives her the full force of his charming smile. “Mr. Scott handled the rental for me. I was traveling at the time.”

It’s strange. Watching Killian, I get a sense he’s telling the truth, and yet he seems oddly unsettled. Maybe he’s like me and values his privacy. I don’t blame him. I’ve spent every summer of my life here. Still I’m treated like an outsider and an object of curiosity.

I hide a lot since I moved in permanently. The idea that they’re just waiting for me to slip up and spill my innermost secrets sets my teeth on edge. I hate small talk, always have. Hate the awkward, too-tight effect it has on my skin, my throat. I’m better off on my own. Which is why I rarely come to town.

Killian is paying for his things—a mountain of candy, chips, soda, knick-knacks that no one ever needs, and the hat—when the bell over the door rings and a group of girls enter on a wave a giggles.

They look about sixteen, and it occurs to me that I’ve really been hiding away for a long-ass time, because I don’t recognize a one of them. At the counter, Killian shifts his weight so his back is to the girls. I wouldn’t have noticed except my attention, apparently, is always somehow on him.