Page 54 of Her Wicker Guardian

“No.” I turn the tiny piece of green in my palm. “Actually, I kind of like it.”

He considers that for a moment, his attention lingering on the leaf before he looks back at my face.

For a second, neither of us moves.

The phone alarm goes off, and I jump.

Locke only glances toward it. “Work.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Yes.”

I shove the leaf into my shirt pocket without thinking about it, then hurry back to the kitchen for my purse. By the time I reach the driveway, Locke is behind me.

I turn.

He stops.

“Rachel work,” he says.

“Yes.”

“Rachel back.”

The words hit differently today. On Saturday he needed reassurance. Today he says them like a fact, and I hear the difference.

“Yes. Rachel comes back.”

He looks toward the screened porch where the bear drawing waits.

“Bear.”

“Yes, Locke. I remember the bear.”

His gaze shifts toward the road.

“Shannon says we’ll need Tom’s truck for the willow,” I say. “He still doesn’t know about you.”

Locke looks toward the road again. “Shannon trusts Tom.”

“She does.”

He doesn’t say anything else, but he keeps watching me. It takes me a second to realize he may be asking something more important than whether Shannon trusts her own husband.

“I trust Shannon’s judgment about him,” I say. “But she won’t tell him unless you’re okay with it.”

After a moment, he nods. “She can tell him.”

I nod. “I’ll make sure everyone else knows that’s your choice.”

His attention returns to the porch where the bear drawing waits, then shifts toward the road. Tom means the truck, and the truck means willow. Eventually, Locke’s bear will leave this yard for a festival he’s never seen.

“We’ll figure out the town part too,” I say.

He waits just long enough that I know what’s coming.

“When?”