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“You’re not cutting anything off the Airstream. Do you know how hard it is to get parts?”
“That’s not my problem.”
“It will be if you cut something off my trailer.”
His phone made a noise, and he lifted it, dismissing her.
Ashley moved toward the stove. She opened a cabinet and pulled out wheat flour and agave syrup.
In Miami, Roman could have made arrangements for a tow truck and a cutting torch in an hour, but up here in Okefenokee people moved more slowly. Plus, everyone who didn’t have to work would be sleeping late after the drum circle—especially Mitzi and Kirk.
He was here for the morning at the very least. Maybe all day.
“Thanks for the coffee,” he said. An afterthought.
“No problem.”
But it was a problem. It was a problem that she’d made the coffee a little bit for herself and a lot for him, and that she’d served it to him, and that when he’d thanked her she’d started to hum with pleasure.
It was a problem that the pleasure had amplified when they started bickering and amplified even more when it sank in that he was stuck here.
Big problem.
She got out almond milk, baking powder, wheat germ, and cashew butter—ingredients for Mitzi’s magical morning muffins—and she told herself she wasn’t delighted he’d remembered to thank her, nor was she gleeful over the fact that he was stuck and couldn’t escape.
But she didn’t believe herself. Not even a little bit.
Triple, quadruple, quintuple fuck.
“How do I find Jerry?” Roman had gone even more tonelessly robotic.
“You’ll have to ask Mitzi. Jerry doesn’t have a phone, and he lives in his truck. He’s in the swamp a lot.”
“Naturally.”
She got out a box of raisins.
“You didn’t have to clean,” she said.
“Couldn’t sleep.”
She cut her eyes in his direction, but he was looking down at the table, his body curled protectively around his phone, face averted to hide whatever this oblique reference to Kirk and Mitzi’s athletic rutting had done to his expression.
It was in his voice, though. A something. Discomfort, disgust, arousal?
Something.
It scared her a little, how much she wanted to see his face.
“You like tempeh?” she asked. “I think I’m going to make muffins, potatoes, and tempeh hash.”
“I’ve never had it.”
“You’re in for a treat, then. You want to peel the potatoes?”
“Not particularly.”
“You might as well. It’s going to be a while before Mitzi and Kirk get up. It’ll pass the time.”
