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Maybe he was taking me to a safe house or something, where victims of crime were kept until more permanent housing was arranged.
He slowly drove through several streets where rows of permanent and casual trailers were set up. Some sites were empty, too.
He paused several times for kids on bikes and for families to shift their street games of cricket and soccer out of the way.
At the end of a street, he pulled his car alongside a small trailer home and turned off the engine.
“Here we are.” He heaved a sigh.
“Where are we?” I cocked an eyebrow.
“My place.”
“Oh.”
A trailer home. I was not expecting that for Officer Fancy Pants. I climbed out of the car, and sea breezes drifted up from the nearby beach. At the base of the three steps, he removed his shoes, and I did the same. He placed our shoes in a row next to a pair of gumboots and a pair of flip-flops.
At the top of the steps, he pushed a key into the door and offered for me to lead the way inside. The interior was neat, everything in its place, not even a dirty cup in the sink. The tiny space was the exact opposite of the chaos I usually thrived in. It felt like him—orderly, restrained.
“You live here?” I said, unable to mask the surprise in my voice.
“Yep.” He tossed his keys onto a blue bowl on the tiny table nestled between two booth seats. “Let me show you around.”
He flicked a switch on the wall to turn on strip lighting that ran along the ceiling corners of the short hallway, giving the area a warm glow.
“There’s the bed. Bathroom is in there.” He pointed at a door along the hallway. “And here’s the kitchen.”
He swept his hand to the sink and microwave.
I chuckled. “Well, well, Officer Fancy Pants, aren’t you full of surprises?”
“It’s only temporary.” A shadow crossed his face. “But it’s home for now.”
“It’s nice. Better than our accommodation last night.” The small cave was already a distant memory.
He huffed. “That’s true.”
A faint scent of quality coffee mingled with the salty air. “No coffee machine though.” I nodded toward the small kitchenette.
“I forgot about that. Those bastards are going to pay for destroying my prized possession.” A tiny smirk crossed his lips, and then he turned and marched toward the bed at the end and reached for something I couldn’t see. He turned with a folded towel in his hand. “You can shower first. I’ll order some food. You like Indian?”
He opened the door to the bathroom and held the towel toward me.
I took the towel from him. “Thanks. And I don’t know about Indian.”
His eyebrows jumped. “You’ve never tried Indian food?”
I shrugged. “Nope.”
His smile took my breath away. “Then you’re in for a treat. Take as long as you want in the shower. I’ll go next.”
His gaze swept me into heaven.
The urge to tell him to join me lingered on my tongue, but he seemed too distracted to give my body the attention that my mind was craving.
Inside the tiny bathroom, I stripped out of my salt-stiff clothes and tossed them into the base of the shower to wash with my feet. The shower hissed until the hot water kicked in. I stepped into the cascade, and the spray scalded my skin. It seemed like forever since I’d had a shower and washed my hair. I used the suds to wash my bikini, but I planned to throw away Kane’s shirt, so I didn’t waste time on that.
Conscious that Tyler may have limited hot water, I cut my shower much shorter than I would have liked and wrapped his towel around me. Even his towel oozed a quality that suited him.
