Page 91 of Heimlock

“Liar,” I mutter, knowing damn well she wants me to have kids so we can discuss diapers, sleep schedules, and the colors of puke. After taking another sip of water, I say, “But a lot of progress can be made in four days.”

“Indeed,” she says quietly. “Just … tread carefully, okay?”

“Are you saying that for me or for him?”

“Both.”

***

Trinte’s back in less than two hours, arms full of bags. I look at him like he’s sprouted six hydra heads.

“Did you pack up your whole house?”

He grins, that one dimple deepening. “Listen up, Firefly. I’m willing to sleep on the floor, but I need some pillows. And that cheap coffee won’t cut it. I also ran to the store to get you some things.”

Curious, I watch him unload onto the kitchen counters. He holds up a package of something clear. I scrunch my nose, trying to figure it out.

When it dawns, I laugh. “You got me a clear shower curtain?”

He lifts another package. Strapless bras. My eyes water with gratitude. “You got me bras?”

Trinte smiles softly. “I figured it might help you be more comfortable. Hope I got the right size.”

The crush I’m developing on this man is far more than a crush at this point. “Tell me why in the Hells you haven’t been snatched up by someone?”

It was the wrong thing to say. A darkness enters his eyes; I immediately regret saying anything. “Sorry, I meant that nicely. I swear.”

He sighs and continues unpacking the bags. “Unless that is your third question, I will not be answering.”

Suddenly insecure, I fake interest in the floor. “Okay.”

It’s so confusing, thinking we’re making progress … and then he shuts me down. The back and forth of it all is a bit too much tonight. Am I really only allowed to ask five questions? Ever? Then what? Never another conversation?

The unpacking stops, replaced by the sound of him walking over. Two brown boots stop toe-to-toe with my slippers.

Trinte’s voice is incredibly soft as he says, “Hey.”

When I refuse to look at him, he brings a thumb to my chin and coaxes my head up. His expression is as sad as I feel. Gaze searching my face, he says, “I’m sorry. I know you were kidding; it’s just a question that has haunted me for literal decades.”

Voice barely above a whisper, I ask, “Am I really only allowed three more questions?”

Trinte’s smile is small, yet amused. His thumb gives my chin the smallest of strokes. “No. You can ask questions. I just can’t guarantee the ability to answer them at the moment.”

“But you can guarantee it with three other questions?” I tease. Without thinking, I lick my lips. It immediately draws his attention. His thumb rubs the bottom of my lip ever so slightly. My brain turns fuzzy, and it's not because of the pain meds. What would he do if I bit his thumb?

The rasp of his deep voice sends shivers down my spine as he says, “A deal’s a deal, Firefly.”

My eyes flick to his mouth. It feels like a taut string yanking between our faces. I’m afraid to move; to spook him. To say anything that might remind him of awful things.

He must see some of that fear in my expression because he says, “I don’t know why no one wants to stick around. All I can come up with is that there is …” His words stall and his throat works repeatedly, as if wrestling with the rest of the sentence. Finally, with a pained look, he says, “… something inherently wrong with me. That women somehow know not to get too close.”

The words are like a blade twisting between my ribs. Because I was one of those women who rejected him. “You know that’s not why I said we shouldn’t date, right?”

Trinte’s mouth flattens into a grim line. The beloved thumb playing with my lip disappears. “I fear this conversation is turning deeper and neither of us have eaten. It’s almost midnight — maybe we should save this chat for after sleep?”

“Yeah.” I put distance between us, inhaling a fortifying breath. Meanwhile, my knees feel like warmed jelly.

When he’s satisfied that I’m not upset anymore, he continues unpacking most of the bags. His mentioning the time flips a switch; now, all I can think of is sleep. The healing tonic has dulled my pain, but I’ll still be forced to sleep on my belly. Not my favorite.