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A creak of wood. A caught breath.

He turned.

Felicity stood several feet away, hair loose, eyes still heavy with sleep, watching him as if she weren’t quite sure where she was. Or how she’d gotten there.

Seeing her so out of sorts almost undid him. “Hey.”

She blinked, once. Twice. Straightened as if the simple act might reorder the moment. Her chin came up, shoulders squaring, embarrassment tucked away behind resolve. “I didn’t mean to—” She stopped, cleared her throat. “I fell asleep.”

As if that needed explaining.

Her gaze flicked past him, taking in the screwdriver in his hand, the open door. Something like mortification crossed her face, quick and gone.

“I shouldn’t be here,” she added. “I’ll go.” She moved as if to prove it.

Ronan held himself still, gave her the space she clearly needed, even as every instinct he had leaned in the opposite direction. He reached down and lifted one of the new keys from the box. “If you ever need to be here,” he said, voice even, “let yourself in.”

She stepped back, hands up. “It won’t hap—”

“Take it. Please.”

Still, she hesitated.

Ronan didn’t move. “I can see you’re carrying something,” he said quietly. “Gertrude has a way of settling things.” He tilted his head “So, if you need her, you’re welcome.”

“Gertrude?”

“The house,” he said, a corner of his mouth lifting.

“You named your house.”

“Why are people so surprised? She has personality.”

“Next you’ll tell me she’s haunted.”

“Nah. No resident ghost.” He shifted his hand, the key catching the light between his fingers.

Her gaze dropped to the key. Lingered.

“Gertrude’s seen worse than we have,” he said. “And she’s still standing. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Felicity grabbed the key from his hand. “This doesn’t mean I’ll use it,” she retorted.

“That’s up to you.”

She spun away and stepped out onto the veranda. At the edge, she paused, then glanced back over her shoulder. “Thanks,” she said softly.

Ronan watched as she crossed the yard, climbed into the Bronco, and backed out of the driveway. She turned and disappeared down the street, the growl of the engine fading until there was only the house again.

Gertrude settled around him, patient.

“Guess I need to be patient, too,” he murmured, rubbing at his chest, trying to ease the tightness there. He hadn’t liked the look on her face when she’d turned back — vulnerable, unguarded — as she said thank you.

Not at all.

*

The key mocked her.