Page 45 of The Best Shot

“Hale—”

“Yaz—”

We both stopped.

My fingers tightened around the basket handle until it bit into my palm. The lights felt too bright for how close we were standing. Somewhere in the next aisle, a customer argued with an employee about grout.

“What were you going to say?” he asked.

“Nothing.” I shook my head. “You?”

His eyes stayed on mine. “Something you’re not ready to hear.”

“Shouldn’t that be up to me?”

“Another time.” He turned away. “I’ll see you around, Yasmine.”

I watched him take one step. Then another. The space between us opened too fast.

“Wait.”

It was out before I could stop it.

He stopped and turned back, waiting.

“I—”

Whatever I’d meant to say stalled somewhere between thought and speech.

I looked down at the deadbolt instead. “You know anything about changing locks?”

He barely spared it a glance, “A little.”

“I was going to call someone, but—” I exhaled. “Would you help me?”

“Of course.”

No hesitation.

The quickness of it threw me. “Are you sure? I don’t want to assume⁠—”

“Yasmine.” His voice was low, certain. “I want to help.”

Not it’s no problem.

Not I don’t mind.

I want to help.

“Thank you.”

“I’ll follow you out. We’ll get it done.”

“I didn’t mean right now. You probably have things⁠—”

“Got tools in my truck. We’ll figure it out.”

I’d expected later. Tomorrow. Some buffer of time.