“You don’t owe me anything,” I said to him slowly, meeting his gaze.

That wary face didn’t move a single muscle. “You’ve been nothing but nice to my family. I owe you,” he repeated himself.

Figuring he was talking about Dean and Trip, I focused on his other words. What the hell was I going to do with this man? Be ungrateful about what he’d done even if it had mainly just been moral support? I knew I should take what I could get for whatever reason.

We worked in silence for a few minutes. He’d take things out of the bags and set them on the counter while I put them where they needed to go. A few times I caught him looking around the kitchen, I’m sure taking in the crappy cupboards and the paint that needed to be redone… and the floors that had seen better decades, but he didn’t comment on them. I didn’t let myself get all bent out of shape over him being in my house, this near stranger.

“If you wanna call the cops, have them come over, I can be your witness she was here,” my neighbor offered in that easy voice that reminded me this was the type of man who didn’t want to talk to women who flirted with him because he was married and who also coached little boy baseball.

I’d been thinking about it while putting up groceries. The truth was, I didn’t want to involve the police, mostly because I didn’t want this getting back to my parents and stressing them out, and I also didn’t want the boys getting involved in it either. Josh had made me promise him something I would never take lightly that night after the funeral. You don’t ever have to see her again if you don’t want to, J. I won’t let her take you. I promise.

“I’m not,” I told him. “I really don’t think she’ll come back.”

The noise that churned in his throat didn’t say whether he approved of my decision or not.

For a moment, I thought about telling him about Rodrigo, but I didn’t. Seeing Anita had given me enough to deal with. Talking about my brother was a mountain I didn’t want to tackle yet with this man who was slowly becoming friendly with me.

When we were done a few minutes later, Josh’s coach gave me a serious, solemn look. “I’m gonna get going, but I’ll be home the rest of the day. Holler if you need anything, but I’ll keep a look out and make sure you don’t get any more visitors.”

“You really don’t have to do that,” I tried to insist.

Dallas let his head lull to the side a moment, watching me with those eyes. That pink mouth opened just enough so I could see the tip of his tongue tap the corner of his lips. “You’re friends with my family. We’re neighbors.” His eyelids hung low in a way that was almost a glare. “Give me a call if you need anything.”

The look I gave him must have said “You sure you’re not going to freak out about me calling?” because I would swear he scowled.

“Holler,” he repeated in that bossy tone.

I nodded at him, not completely convinced calling him was something I wouldn’t get unfriended for. “Thanks again.”

Dallas shrugged one rounded, muscular shoulder. “Make sure your doors are locked, all right?”

The nod I gave him was slow. That prideful part of me wanted to say I could take care of myself. Because I could. I had. I took care of two boys and me. But I kept my trap shut. I knew when to accept help and when not. It wasn’t like I had anyone else.

“Hey!” I called out to him all of a sudden. “Josh is having a birthday party next weekend. If you have nothing better to do, feel free to drop by. We’ll have food, and I’m inviting some of the other neighbors, too.” I didn’t need him thinking I was trying to reel him in.

Dallas hesitated for a moment, already walking away. His back was to me. “All right.” He didn’t move for a moment. “Keep an eye out next time you get home.”

Indignation flared in my chest at being treated like a stupid kid. What was with this man and his bossiness?

Those golden-brown eyes glanced over his shoulder. That familiar line formed between his eyebrows. “Don’t get pissed off,” he said, turning forward again before tossing out, “I only want to help. See you later.”

Chapter Eleven

“Louie Chewy,” I said his name calmly.

He didn’t look up at me. He knew what I was about to ask. I had eyes. So did he, and he was using his to look at the not-so-interesting sky.

I scratched the tip of my nose. “Where is your shoe, boo?”

Even after I asked him about the missing sneaker, which I knew for a fact he’d had on when we’d left the house—because why would he leave the house with only one sneaker on?—he still didn’t look down at his sock-covered foot. The same sock-covered foot that suddenly had curled toes inside of the blue and black material as if he was trying to hide. Jesus Christ.

He tilted his head to the side and shrugged those small shoulders. “I don’t know,” he whispered.

Not again. With his attention focused on something other than me, I didn’t feel bad about pinching the bridge of my nose. He knew I only did that when it was deserved, and this would count as one of those times. If someone had told me four years ago that little boys randomly lost their shoes for no reason at all, I would have laughed and told them “that sucks.” If Josh had ever misplaced a sneaker at a young age without being in my presence, Rodrigo hadn’t told me about it. Who the hell loses a shoe and isn’t blackout drunk? How the hell does someone lose a shoe to begin with? I wouldn’t walk around bragging about it either.