“Turn around!” I yell at him as I bend down and frantically grab at the heap of fabric on the floor. My hands are shaking so badly that I can only paw at it and try to pull it over the most important bits. Above me, I hear Gunner chuckle.

“Turn around?” he rumbles with laughter. “Oh, darlin’, not a chance.”

A roar of embarrassed rage rips from my throat as I leave the shampoo and conditioner behind. I pull the clothes and towel against my chest and crotch and stumble toward my bedroom. Inside, I fling the door closed, the taunting sound of Gunner’s chuckling following me. I sit down on the bed, breathing heavily, and try not to cry from embarrassment and shock. It’s not funny! I want to yell at him, but I know it’ll probably just egg him on.

I stay there for countless minutes, frozen in an agony of shame. I have never wanted to disappear into the ether more than I do at this moment. I even contemplate packing up my stuff and climbing out the window. But in the end I know that would just make me feel even more idiotic. And somehow I can’t bear the thought of Gunner laughing at me any more than he already is.

I don’t even know how long it takes me to pull on some clothes and force myself to open the bedroom door. The only thing that convinces me is knowing the sooner I push past the humiliation, the sooner it will be over.

Out in the living room, Gunner’s sitting on the couch with a beer, flipping channels on his TV. He looks over at me and gives me an amused chin lift. “Well, now, darlin’. How was the shower?”

“Fine,” I mumble, my face going scarlet.

“Glad to hear it.” His eyes leave mine, traveling southward so slowly that I just know he’s replaying in his mind what he saw a few minutes ago. I don’t know how I’m ever going to live down the fact that he knows what I look like naked.

“Are you…” I start to ask are you hungry, but I’m afraid he’s going to make an off-color joke. And I might just die of embarrassment if he does. “I mean, I, uh, bought some groceries. I thought I could make you dinner. To thank you for letting me stay here tonight.”

“Darlin’, that show you just gave me was all the thanks I need,” he growls. Gunner’s eyes visibly darken as they slip back down to rest on my breasts. I feel naked all over again. My nipples tighten in response, heat beginning to pool between my legs.

“Can we please just not talk about that?” I choke. Even more horrifying than being caught naked in his hallway is the fact that I’m actually getting turned on by him staring at me like that.

After a long moment, he drags his gaze back up to my face. My expression must convey just how mortified I am right now, because he relents a little.

“Sure thing, darlin’,” he drawls. He turns his head back toward the TV. “Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna be thinkin’ about it, though.”

I don’t know what to say to that at all. So instead, I flee into his kitchen and start searching the cupboards for pots and pans to make dinner. I turn on the oven, and put some water on to boil, hoping that having something to do will make me just the tiniest bit less focused on how humiliated I am. While the oven’s heating up, I make some garlic butter for the bread. After making scores in the French loaf, I slide the butter between the slices, then put the whole thing on a sheet of aluminum foil that I’m surprised to find in a drawer.

I’ve just dumped the sauce into the pan to heat up and am getting out a cutting board to chop some vegetables when Gunner wanders in. He sets his empty beer bottle and goes to the refrigerator to grab another. “You want one?” he asks me.

“Sure,” I mumble. God, anything to take the edge off how nervous I feel around him right now.

He pops the cap off a bottle for me and sets it down next to the cutting board. “Here you go,” he says. Then, instead of going back out into the living room, he pulls up a stool to sit down at the kitchen island. I stifle a groan and start cutting.

“What are we having?” he asks in an amused tone.

“Spaghetti,” I reply.

“My favorite.”

I glance up at him sharply, certain he’s making fun of me.

“What?” he asks innocently, spreading his hands. “I mean it. I fucking like spaghetti.”

“Good,” I say uncertainly. “There’s garlic bread, too.”

“Even better.” He takes a swig of his drink and sets it down. “Can I help?”

I actually start laughing as I try to imagine him chopping veggies. Even him being in a kitchen at all is hard enough to picture — and he’s right here so I don’t even have to try. “No, that’s okay. There’s not that much to do.” I hold up a small container. “You like mushrooms?”

“I like everything,” he replies, raising a brow.

Now that he’s seen me naked, practically everything out of his mouth sounds like a sexual innuendo. I force myself to ignore that and start chopping.

“Your knife’s dull,” I say after a few seconds. “You should sharpen it.”

“Yeah, well I don’t cook much.” He shrugs. “Doesn’t get much use.” He takes another drink, and thankfully decides to make a stab at a normal conversation. “You have a good day?”

I risk a glance at him. “It was okay. Other than going shopping and…” And taking a shower… “Other than going shopping,” I continue, reddening, “I didn’t do a whole lot.”

“Any news about your sister?”

“No.” My throat gets a lump in it, and I pick up my bottle of beer and take a drink to clear it. “I’ve been texting her and calling for days, but no answer. It doesn’t even look like her phone is on.”

Gunner frowns at me. “So… do you even think she wants to be found?”

I sigh deeply. “I don’t know. Honestly, probably not. But I just need to know she’s safe. Once I know that for sure, I’ll leave her alone if she wants me to.”

He’s silent for a moment. “What exactly did that fucker Gonzalo tell you at the bar last night? About where your sister is?”

I shrug. “Like I told you before. He said he and Eden broke up. And she left town. He said he hadn’t seen her since.”

“And do you believe him?”

“I don’t know what to believe.” Lifting up the small cutting board, I push the chopped mushrooms into the spaghetti sauce that’s simmering in a pan on the stove. “Gonzalo lies like he breathes,” I tell him. “Even when he and Eden were together in Lynchburg, he was always lying to her. Disappearing and not telling her where he was. Saying he was out with the guys, and then she’d find out later that a friend saw him at a bar with some girl. He was always borrowing money from her, saying he’d pay her back, but he never would.” I shrug. “So anything he says is probably bullshit. But he’s all I have to go on. And he says she’s gone.”

For a few minutes, Gunner lets me work in silence. I risk a couple of glances at him; he looks deep in thought. I boil spaghetti, grate parmesan, and get out some plates for us. I figure we’ll eat here at the kitchen island, since it’s not exactly a fancy dinner. When the food’s ready, I hand Gunner his plate and some silverware, then rinse the pasta and let him serve himself.

We concentrate on eating for a while. Gunner pulls off a few slices of the garlic bread and stuffs a piece in his mouth. “This is fucking good,” he growls.

I have to laugh. “It’s literally just garlic salt and butter. But thanks.” It is good, actually. Sometimes the simplest meals are the best. It feels oddly therapeutic to just sit down and share a home-cooked meal with someone. I haven’t done this in forever. Not since before Mom got sick. A pang of grief hits, me, and I try to ignore it. If I let myself wallow in every sad memory and regret lurking just below the surface, I’d never manage to do anything else.

“So,” Gunner says then. “What’s your plan for tomorrow?”

Thinking he’s trying to find a roundabout way to ask when I’m leaving, I rush to reassure him. “Oh, I promise to be out of your hair. I’ll probably just drive back to the bar one last time and hope Eden shows up. If not, I guess I’ll drive back to Lynchburg and accept defeat.”

There’s no way I’m going to give up that easily, of course. But Gunner doesn’t need to know that.

“Like hell you will,” he barks, as though reading my mind. “You’re going to stay here looking for her no matter what. I didn’t believe you the first time you tried to feed me that horseshit line, and I don’t believe you now. So you might as well admit it now, and let me help you.”

“But…” I stammer in frustration, “I’ve told you before, I don’t know how you can help me, Gunner. Even if you wanted to. I know literally nothing more than I’ve told you. My sister’s disappeared without a trace, and as far as I can tell, she doesn’t want to be found. The only hope I have of finding her is if I manage to just run into her somehow, by luck.” I shake my head. “And you can’t even do that. You don’t even know what Eden looks like. You wouldn’t know her if you passed by her in the street.” Despair threatens to overwhelm me. “Plus, you beat up Gonzalo, so he knows who you are now. Even if you went back to the bar looking for him, he’ll never talk to you.”

“That son of a bitch had it coming,” he begins to protest, but I stop him.

“I know,” I nod. “And I appreciate it, Gunner. I really do. God knows what he would have done to me if you hadn’t stopped him from…” I can’t quite bear to finish the sentence. “But even so, be honest. What more can you do to help than you’ve done already, by getting me away from him and letting me spend the night here?”

“Plenty,” he says, a determined look in his eye. “Believe me. But if you want my help — and darlin’, trust me when I say you need it — you’re gonna have to answer some questions and tell me everything I want to know.”