“Unfortunately,” he said dryly. Then, gentler, “Stay. I’ll get it.”
He was gone less than a minute.
Voices carried faintly. A woman’s laugh, brief and sharp.
Wyatt came back with a folded stack of clothes tucked under his arm. Jeans. Sweaters. Wool socks. A weatherproof jacket.
“Sarah,” he said. “I called her last night and asked her to drop off some basics for you. I took a guess at the size.”
He laid the clothes on the couch on the far side of the kitchen.
She didn’t need to anticipate the next problem. He already had. “Thank you.”
He lifted his coffee. “She was at the hospital earlier. Caro’s being discharged this morning. My dad’s picking her up. She’ll stay with my parents until her mom flies in.” He took a sip. “Max discharged himself against medical advice. Apparently, he told the nurses he had a rig to help rebuild.”
Relief loosened something deep in Jen’s spine. “That’s really kind of your family.” She shook her head with a smile. “And it doesn’t surprise me about Max.”
Wyatt smiled. “My mom enjoys having something useful to do. We could go visit Caro tomorrow if you like.”
Tomorrow. As if there was a plan. And she’d still be here.
“I’d like that.”
He turned back to the stove. “Hungry?”
“Starving.” She dropped her gaze to her coffee.Much safer.
He opened the fridge without waiting for specifics and pulled out what he needed. He laid bacon on the griddle, then cracked eggs into a bowl before taking a drink of his coffee. He whisked the eggs with a fork, added salt, and set another pan on the stove. She cradled her coffee as he worked.
The eggs sizzled. Bread went into the toaster after he removed the bacon to kitchen paper to drain. He plated hers first—pushed it across to her with a knife and fork—then made his own.
She took a bite of toast and egg. Buttery and perfect. The bacon was crisp and salty. “You cook like this often?”
“When it matters.”
She looked up. He was watching her eat, something intent in his eyes that he flattened a second later into neutral.
Her stomach flipped, and not from hunger. “What?”
“Nothing.” He took a bite of his own food. “Weather’s clearing. Thought we could ride if you’re up for it.”
“Ride?”
“Horses.” He pulled his phone from his pocket, checked something, and set it down. “Trail’s good. Snow’s packed but not icy.”
“What about the police?—”
“Tomorrow.” His voice was firm. “I’ve already confirmed it.”
Oh.
He was giving her a day. One day before the world crashed back in. She wasn’t sure she deserved it. Wasn’t sure it was hers to take.
“I haven’t ridden in years.”
“You’ll be fine.” He finished his eggs, rinsed his plate. “No pressure.”
She looked at him—this man who’d carried her to his bed, made her coffee without asking, fed her before himself, now offering her something quiet and easy with no expectation attached.
