Open Your Heart (Kings Grove #4) - Delancey Stewart Page 0,12

feels too big for me by myself,” I added, never able to just let things go.

The fire seethed and rolled low in the copper circle at our feet, and the sizzling and popping were made louder by the extreme silence of the forest around us. It was mesmerizing, and for a little while I sat transfixed, staring into the fire, sneaking occasional glances at Cam.

Much too soon, he stood, and disappointment pushed my heart down into my stomach, and made me feel alone again. “Cam?” My mouth was going again before my brain caught up.

He looked at me and it felt like a victory, my mood lightening instantly. “Yeah?”

“Thanks for letting me sit for a few minutes.”

His eyes lingered on my face for a long beat, and then one corner of his mouth lifted in a tiny smile. “It’s fine.” His posture shifted an inch, something in the lengthening of his spine, the way his hand gripped his thigh for a quarter of a second making me think his interest had been piqued by this statement. “You doing okay? Settling in?”

Honesty came before I’d had time to think. “It’s been a little hard.”

He nodded, just a curt dip of his chin. “Well, I’m right here if you need anything.”

Despite the relative coolness with which he’d delivered the words, they did something to me. They wound around me, warming and reassuring me. I wasn’t sure he meant that like, “come on down and bother me whenever,” or “I’ll make sure you’re okay,” but something in me settled when he said it. He was right here. I wasn’t completely alone. “Thanks.”

“Want me to walk you home?” he asked, his eyes rising toward the big house.

“No, that’s okay,” I said, immediately regretting it. I stood and lifted a hand. “Good night.” I could feel his eyes on me as I made my way back across the short open space between our houses, and the knowledge that he was looking out for me, making sure I was safe, warmed me.

I waved, and Cam waved back and then turned. He disappeared into his house, the screen on his door swinging slowly shut even after the big wooden door had sealed, tracing a graceful arc on its tension spring, silently settling back into its frame.

And then the night was still once again.

I watched Cam leave for work the next morning, standing in my front window feeling sad for no real reason as his silver truck pulled out of the driveway.

I needed to get to work myself. And I should check in with my dad. One of these tasks was less enticing than the other, so I dressed for work and made plans to head over to the Inn to meet my new boss, Michaela Grayson. There was something I liked about a woman who went by a man’s name, and I was curious to meet Mike. Dad hadn’t told me a lot about her, and though I’d spoken to her once on the phone—an interview, really—I didn’t know much about her.

As I smoothed the pencil skirt I put on after my shower, I could hear my phone ringing downstairs, and I contemplated not answering it. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to chat with whomever was calling, my hesitation was mostly a safety concern. Pencil skirts could hinder walking on flat surfaces. Stairs were another matter entirely. I gave it a shot, gripping the railing for dear life and doing my best to descend without ripping the skirt or sending myself flying, and I picked up my phone from the coffee table on its final ring.

“Hey Wind!” I was happy to see it was my best friend calling, and I might’ve answered a little too loudly, my voice breathless from the mad dash down the stairs.

“Strings, is that you?”

My best friend Chelle had questioned my odd name when we first met—changing it immediately to Strings, as if I wasn’t actually named Harper but maybe people called me that because I played the instrument. In retaliation, I’d chosen another group of instruments from the scattered memories I had of middle school orchestra, where I had actually played strings, but not the harp. Chelle, as it turned out, didn’t actually play a horn or flute of any kind, but the names had stuck and she’d so far refused to take flute lessons, though I kept telling her it would better legitimize the nickname situation.

I felt immediately happier. “Hi!”

“How’s podunk, California?” Chelle had been upset when I left New