Sandcastle Beach (Matchmaker Bay #3) - Jenny Holiday Page 0,75

inner door to his bar locked, and presumably the door to his apartment locked, this door was kind of superfluous. But on the other hand, this vestibule was often filled, when the bar was open, with drunk people up to no good.

Okay, well, she’d carry on with her plan to go to Jenna’s.

But then Karl stepped out of the passageway. He was carrying a ladder—she didn’t even want to ponder why—and thankfully, it was blocking his view of her. She flattened herself against the wall and got out her phone to text Benjamin. 911—I’m downstairs, and I need you to come let me in.

She wasn’t sure he would recognize her number. They were on some group chats together, but they’d never texted one-on-one. She had him in her contacts as Pizza Jerk. But presumably he wasn’t expecting anyone else at his back door this morning.

A few moments later, she could hear him clattering down the stairs like a herd of bison. Yeah, she probably should have said, “I need you to let me in quietly.”

He appeared on the other side of the glass door, and…welcome to the third See Benjamin’s Chest Day of the summer. She ordered herself to be cool and put her finger to her lips to signal quiet.

“What’s wrong?” he whispered urgently as he yanked open the door. She hustled inside, but because she was looking over her shoulder as she did so, she didn’t realize he hadn’t moved back—typical Benjamin, not giving her an inch—so she ended up banging against his chest.

Which, in addition to being bare, was damp.

As was his hair, she discovered, as she tilted her head back to look at him. No, not damp, fully wet. As if to punctuate her observation, a drop of water fell on her cheek.

To her complete shock, one of his arms banded around her waist, and he pulled her against his chest. “Are you okay?” he said urgently.

It took her a minute to get her bearings and therefore to answer. He was just so…hard. But also accommodating. Comfortable to lean against even though he was…her nemesis. The Pizza Jerk. Or something. While her vocabulary was failing, his other hand came to her face, tilting it to the side, like he was trying to see her better in the dimly lit vestibule.

His hand on her face shocked her out of her stupor. “Of course I’m okay.” She tried to look anywhere except at his eyes. Being the object of such intense, direct scrutiny from him was suddenly uncomfortable—which made no sense, because they spent a lot of time having staring contests. She squirmed, trying to push back against his embrace, but he didn’t give way. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“On account of the fact that you texted me 911?”

Right. She bit back the urge to apologize if she’d worried him. “It wasn’t 911 per se. It was Karl. I didn’t want him to see me coming here.”

He snorted and let go of her. Stepped back to make the room she’d been actively trying to acquire a mere moment ago but now found she didn’t want at all.

“Do you want Karl to see me coming here?” she asked.

He muttered something under his breath that she didn’t catch, but then raised his voice and said, as he mounted the stairs, “All right. C’mon.”

“Why was this door locked anyway?”

“It’s usually locked when the bar is closed. I unlock it when I know you’re coming. And if you haven’t noticed, you’re half an hour early.”

“You keep this door locked?”

He shot her a bewildered look over his shoulder. “Have you not noticed this town has its share of meth heads in and amongst the moonflowers?”

Of course she had. It just seemed uncharacteristically considerate of him to run down and unlock it in advance of her arrival, rather than telling her to text when she was downstairs. But probably he didn’t want to get into the habit of texting her. She’d made that Pizza Jerk contact for him, to keep things organized in group texts. But he likely had no idea which string of numbers was hers. Anyway, if they started texting regularly, they’d spend all their time typing rants at each other. Ranting in person was much more efficient.

Inside, Benjamin grabbed a full coffeepot. “You want some?”

She nodded—and she may or may not have admired the way the muscles in his back rippled as he reached up to a high shelf for a mug. “Sorry I didn’t bring anything. Oh, but wait!” She