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This was wrong.
He wasn’t hers.
Cadence forced herself to put it down and then changed into the pajama pants and a loose, cream-colored shirt that had thinned and softened with years of use.
She padded down the hallway and made her way into the living room. He turned from where he was stirring up something on the plate—some kind of tuna casserole with buttered toast on the side if her scent was spot-on.
He looked her up and down, and she saw it—just a flash of disappointment before he turned back to the plate and grabbed a napkin from the dispenser.
He gestured for her to sit at the table and brought the steaming plate over to her. Cadence searched his face. “You went through my panty drawer.”
He shrugged remorselessly. “Are you wearing the pink ones?”
“I’m wearing granny panties,” she clipped out. “I’m not trying to seduce another woman’s man.”
“I don’t belong to her. The black granny panties? Or the white ones with the cherries on them?”
“Oh my gosh, Kru! Did you go through them all?”
“You have four pairs of red ones, and seven pairs of brown ones—”
“Stop!” she said, swatting at his arm. He laughed and didn’t even bother to duck out of her way. “You have issues.”
“So many,” he said, leaning closer to her against the table. The smile faded, and returned smaller. “Try it.”
“What is it?” she asked, spooning a bite to blow on it.
“Mac and cheese, cream of mushroom soup, and a can of tuna. My mom used to make it for me when I didn’t feel good. I thought you were going to come in tossed.”
“I could tell by the barf-bucket you left by my bed.”
His grin was way too charming for his own good…or hers. “I would’ve held your hair back.”
She scrunched up her face, but silently, she thought that was actually very sweet and kind of romantic. “You should know I never drink like that. I don’t like losing control.”
“Now I know,” he said softly.
She blew on the bite one more time and then tasted it and whooooo, it was good. “Your mom makes this?”
He canted his head. His eyes were so bright right now. “She did when she was alive.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.”
He was searching her face for something she didn’t understand, so she blew on a bite and offered it to him. Leaning forward, he took the bite, and then pulled her chair closer to him and repeated, “I don’t belong to her. I saw the hurt on your face when she was talking, and I hated it. Ask me.”
“Ask what?” she whispered, unable to meet his eyes.
“Ask me anything you want. Anything.” He swallowed audibly. “And before you do, you should know I’ve never done this.”
“Done what?”
“Wanted to talk like this. I don’t care if anyone knows anything about me. I never cared. I didn’t share with Sasha. It wasn’t like this.”
“Like this?”
He shook his head and looked straight into her soul as he repeated, “It wasn’t like this. I didn’t want to talk to her. She would look at me with this hardness in her eyes and she would wait for me to say something she didn’t like, and I learned early to just keep the important parts of me to myself. If I slipped up and exposed the real, she would dig at me. She’s very clever, and I used to think it was so attractive, but over time she only used it to get in people’s heads. She gets in my head. She figured out every button to push. I could see when she was talking to you, she was learning yours. I hated it. It’s one thing when she uses it on me, but watching her get in your head?” He leaned in and leveled her with a look that shocked her with its fury. “No one gets to do that to you.”
Her heart was racing. “The ring?”
