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She started. Caleb’s muscular form filled the doorway, his gaze fixed on the ornament in her hand.
Quickly, she placed it back on the chair. “Do you do a lot of woodworking? It’s a lovely….” God. What the hell was it?
Caleb’s expression could have leveled buildings. “It’s a dog.”
Dog? Grace forced herself not to look again at the strange creature. “Of course. It’s a lovely dog. Your dog. Dolly, right?” God, she was blabbering, exhaustion and anxiety unraveling her tongue to epic proportions.
“Close the door,” Caleb instructed, turning to head inside.
Grace complied, closing the door behind her. “I didn’t know it was you, Dolly. You could have said something,” she whispered.
Dolly tilted her head, her expression quizzical.
The tension in Grace’s shoulders eased a notch as she entered the welcoming interior of Caleb’s home. He was across the room, tending to the dying embers of a wood-burning stove, his back to her. Grace took a moment to absorb her surroundings: a sparse kitchen to her right, a ladder leading up to a loft that she assumed must be the bedroom, cozy snug on her left, bordered with shelves groaning with books. Caleb liked to read.
But where was the bathroom? Nature called, and she hadn’t dared to risk a bathroom break while being pursued by Alex and his men.
“Um. Caleb, can I use your bathroom?”
Caleb pointed to the ladder without turning around. Upstairs. Okay.
"Thanks." Grace climbed the ladder, which led her to a spacious loft. A king-size bed with a thick, red comforter dominated the space. Windows in the ceiling offered an uninterrupted view of the night sky, bright with the moon’s milky glow.
She also spotted rough-hewn shelves built into the wall, providing a gradual stepped ascent. She assumed they would allow Dolly to easily reach the loft from the floor below.
He really cares for his dog. That's good, right?
The loft had two closed doors. The first led to Caleb’s wardrobe, filled with folded checked shirts. The second opened to the bathroom.
She washed her hands afterwards with the bar of white soap in the dish at the sink. The mirror was one of those cabinets that concealed shelving. She stared at her reflection as warm water sluiced the suds from her hands.
Respect his privacy. Don’t, Grace.
Yes, but if he’s a secret maniac, I have to know, now.
She opened his cabinet, rolling her shoulders back with the moral rightness of checking out if he was a serial killer or not.
She’d never seen such an empty cabinet.
A bottle of Advil.
She took two with a sip of water for the building ache in her wrist.
What else? A paper wrapped bar of soap. A razor and a shaving brush.
Nothing else. No serial killer kit. No evidence of another woman.
Grace shook her head at her own ridiculous thoughts.
She closed the mirrored cabinet and stared at her unruly hair. She retrieved a hairband from her pocket and pulled her hair back, then splashed water on her face, before dabbing at the cut on her forehead. It had stopped bleeding and wasn’t too deep, thankfully.
She smoothed down her clothes and made her way back to the main room. Dolly lay half-curled in front of the fire, her snores filling the space with a comforting rhythm. Caleb was busy in the kitchen nook.
“Sit.” His command was firm, pointing to the stool tucked under the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room.
“Are you always this bossy?” The words were out before she could censor them.
“Only with unexpected guests.”
