“He brought me coffee once,” she mutters.
“And what do you think of him now?” I press, still irked.
She sighs. “I think I want to go home and not have this conversation. Bye.”
She begins walking away, but I wrap my hand around her wrist and whirl her around. I close the distance, and she steps back, her shoulders meeting the side of the car. I keep going until there’s barely any space between us. I watch her chin tip up to hold my eye, her jaw setting.
“I helped you in there.”
She scoffs, turning her head to the side. “You didn’t need to do that. I had it handled.”
“He wasn’t letting go of your arm,” I remind her.
“I know how to make a man let go, Grayson.”
Her hands press flat against my chest. She shoves.
I don’t move.
She shoves again, harder this time, and I watch her face as she registers the fact that she’s put all her strength into it and it hasn’t worked. Her eyes widen, and I smirk.
The look she gives me in return could strip paint. “Oh, don’t you dare—”
Then in an unexpected move, her hand shoots to my side, fingers finding the soft pocket of skin just below my arm, and she pinches.
I yelp, jumping back, and it’s her turn to smirk.
“Move, Wolfe.”
I step out of her way because there’s no recovering from this with any dignity.
She smooths the front of her stained dress as if nothing happened. “I know how to handle myself.” She meets my eyes. “I did not need saving.”
“You have a weird way of saying thanks,” I grumble, rubbing the throbbing patch of skin.
When she doesn’t respond with a quip, I look toward her. Her shoulders are stiff, and there’s a faint color across her cheeks. She looks away, down at the ground, then off toward the streetlight.
“Thank you,” she says quietly.
I watch her face for a moment, and I know it cost her pride to thank me. My prickly nurse clings to her pride like anything.
“Get in the car,” I say.
“I would rather wal—”
I open the passenger side door, my voice firm. “Get in the damn car, Miranda, before I throw you in.”
She scowls at me and slides in, muttering as she does, “And you say I push you around? Have you seen yourself?”
I reach out to buckle her seatbelt as Ethan bounces in the backseat, excited. She quickly grabs her seatbelt. “I can do it myself.”
I grin. “If you say so.”
Ethan talks for the entire drive. He has a great deal to say about the dessert he didn’t get to eat and the exact nature of the injustice done to him this evening. Miranda sits in the passenger seat with her hands in her lap and her head turned slightlytoward the back, making small sounds of sympathy at every escalation of his complaint. I keep my eyes on the road.
“Dad.” Ethan leans toward the gap between our seats, gripping both headrests. “I’m hungry.”
“I know. I heard you tell Miranda three times now.”
