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I noted that she didn’t ask me anything about who was driving me, or why I wasn’t driving myself.

“Well, you should have called as soon as you found out in any case. It’s your job to look after her. You’re the eldest.”

“I know, Mum,” I said, noticing Kerr looking at me again with a mix of curiosity and concern. “But don’t you want to move on and discuss what’s happening with Aisha?”

“Well of course I do!”

I couldn’t help the roll of my eyes at that point, but luckily, she didn’t seem to notice. I explained what had happened, though it took a long time because she kept interrupting to ask a question that was either irrelevant or that I was going to answer in my next sentence, if she’d only shut up for a second and listen. Then, once I had finished, she kept asking questions that I had already answered, necessitating me to reply, “Well, as I said . . .” and then telling her the selfsame thing again. And then another number of minutes passed where she returned to how disappointed she was in me for not calling straightaway. By then I had to tell her there was no point going over it because what was done was done, and then I finally managed to hang up the phone. At least she asked one question about how I was after the fire, her tone becoming more sympathetic before she hung up.

I slumped back in my seat, sapped of all energy.

Kerr glanced over. “That was intense.”

I rubbed my eyes, stifling a yawn. “I know. Pretty standard.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Why don’t you close your eyes for a bit? Have half an hour’s rest before we get home.”

I wanted to protest, because I felt like there was still a lot for us to talk about. But my eyes were so damn heavy. “Maybe just for a bit,” I said, closing them.

He reached an arm back to pluck a fleece from the back seat. “Here. Put this under your head.”

“Thank you,” I said gratefully, tucking the soft material into a ball and popping it between my shoulder and head.

I listened to the thrum of the engine, breathing in the comfortingly masculine scent of Kerr from the fleece, and allowed myself to drop off to sleep.

21

Kerr

WE HAD BEEN sitting in my driveway for around ten minutes, Nisa snoozing in the passenger seat with her mouth hanging adorably open while I watched her sleep like some kind of stalker. But I didn’t have the heart to wake her when she was clearly exhausted. What the actual hell had that call from her mother been all about? I knew I didn’t have any right to judge when I didn’t have any siblings, but it seemed a bit strange to me that Nisa’s parents put all this pressure on her to “look after” her adult sister. I deduced that it must be some kind of throwback from her childhood, when it was clearly so ingrained in their relationship that Nisa had actually apologized for not calling them sooner though she had nothing to apologize for.

One thing had become clear ever since that fire. There was a lot more to this woman than I had originally anticipated, back when I only thought of her as my warmongering neighbor.

My eyes were drawn back to her sleeping face. Her dark lashes framed the tops of her cheekbones, her tawny brown skin smooth. I was tempted to brush the pad of my thumb across her cheek. I didn’t, of course. Because that would definitely be approaching stalker territory.

She let out a little whimper in her sleep and I had to suppress the strong urge to reach out and cuddle her into my chest. What was she dreaming about? The fire? I worried my lip, hating to think that she was distressed, even if it was only a dream.

Just then, she stirred, muttering something that I couldn’t quite catch. I found myself leaning toward her to make out what she was saying.

“Kerr,” she murmured, her voice quiet and breathy, making my muscles freeze and my heart crank into high gear. Was she dreaming about me? Suddenly my skin felt too hot.

Her eyes fluttered open, her dreamy gaze meeting my startled one. My heart smacked against my ribs so hard I was sure it must have broken a couple of them.

A small smile played about her lips before she blinked the dreaminess out of her eyes and they widened in shock. She sat straight, darting her gaze around the car. “Kerr! I was just . . . I mean, we were . . .” She paused, speaking more slowly. “We’re at your house. When did we get back?”

“Not long ago,” I said, wishing I had the guts to ask her what she’d been dreaming about. “But I didn’t want to wake you straightaway when you were so tired.” And looking so fucking adorable.

“Thank you,” she said, the cuteness on overload as her cheeks streaked with pink. Christ, she was gorgeous. And these last few days had been a real roller coaster of emotion where she was concerned. It was as if the solid door of my frustration and dislike had been blown away by this new torrent of protectiveness and lust that had come out of nowhere. Or had it? Even before the fire, there had been that hot dream I’d had about her. And if I was honest with myself, even before that, when I’d first had an inkling about entering the Christmas lights competition, the idea of her storming over all mad had kind of done it for me. And then actually done it for me when that very event occurred in real life.

I shrugged, attempting to cover up the maelstrom of my thoughts and emotions. “It’s no problem.”

She was looking at me with a soft, embarrassed smile. But was that because she was grateful for my help? Or because whatever she had been dreaming had involved me and been akin to the dream I’d had about her a couple of weeks ago? Suddenly the air in the car felt heavy, as if it were pushing the two of us closer together.

I cleared my throat, attempting to get a hold of myself. She had been traumatized by recent events; this was not the time to be getting inappropriate ideas. “Listen. I was wondering if I could take you somewhere tomorrow?” I was partly thinking on my feet, trying to find a neutral subject, but also keen to find a way to see her again the next day. Something other than me coming over to work on her fire damage—​which I would still complete, of course—​because I wanted to talk some more. Find out more about her.

“Where did you want to go?” she asked, curiosity on her face.

“To Loch Auchness. Wild swimming.” It wasn’t a completely spur-of-the-​moment, half-​baked idea. I did have an inkling that the mindfulness of it would do her good, a bit of parasympathetic stimulation to soothe her adrenaline- and cortisol-​fueled situation. But it seemed to take her by surprise nonetheless, judging by the way her eyebrows shot halfway up her forehead.