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But then a moment later, her nose wrinkled with irritation. “And you couldn’t have said anything like this to me earlier this morning, because… Why?” she demanded, flinging out a hand as if waiting for me to explain myself.
It was so freaking cute, I couldn’t help myself. I smiled.
Sugar and spice and everything nice, that’s what this girl was made of.
Her scowl deepened, and yet I knew she wasn’t pissed-pissed at me. Not sure how I knew that, but I could just feel it. It was like an already forgiven kind of irritation on her face.
So, I shrugged. “You were giving me food…and apologizing. If I had said anything then, you might’ve taken that bear claw back.”
She snorted and rolled her eyes. “You are such a guy.”
My grin grew. She sounded like Sarah.
Sighing at me again, Reese motioned beside her to the rest of the bench seat. “So, are you going to sit down or not?”
Wait. What?
My smile fell flat. Because…sit down? Next to her?
Strolling over here like a mindless dumbass and merely talking to her had already been more than I should’ve done. But…actually sitting next to her…
I shouldn’t.
And yet…
“You don’t mind?” I asked warily. The mere rumors about me were usually enough to make every other female keep their distance altogether or only seek me out in private to get something they wanted. But she knew what I was. Why would she want me to stick around for any longer than necessary?
With a wince, she rubbed the back of her neck. “I mind this crick in my neck you’re giving me by making me look up at you,” she said before dropping her hand. “Sit down already.”
She was serious. She actually wanted me to sit at the same table as her and keep talking openly with her.
Holding my breath and waiting for her to come to her senses, I slowly slipped the strap of my bag off my shoulder and sat.
Confession #11: But I enjoyed talking to her, anyway.
“Comfy?”
I glanced at Reese blankly.
I’d just set my bag on the bench between us so no one could even suggest anything inappropriate might be going on here. But I must’ve made too big of a production of making us look non-romantic, because she sounded beyond amused.
When I met her gaze, blue-blue eyes crinkled with a smile. That little obsessed part inside me sighed in contentment.
Turning her attention back to her food as she stabbed a crouton as if she hadn’t just made my heart go ka-thump, she said, “I feel like your mom totally played me, by the way.”
At the mention of my mom, I cringed. “I know. I’m sorry about that. I told her she needs to tell people about Sarah’s condition whenever she interviews them. But she insists it takes her five times longer to find a willing sitter when she does.”
Nodding, Reese picked out another crouton and chewed. “I don’t see how I’m allowed to watch Sarah at all,” she went on. “Not that I’m complaining, because your sister is absolutely the sweetest thing ever, but… Doesn’t she need, like, a trained medical professional watching her or something?”
I shrugged. “No. I watch her all the time, and I have no medical training. It’s not like you have to give her any of her prescriptions or treatments when you watch her either. That all lands on the day sitter, who, okay, is a retired nurse, but government programs pay her wages, whereas your job is off the records since you only work part-time every couple of evenings. Mom and I pay you cash out of pocket.”
“Oh.” She paused eating to frown thoughtfully. When she glanced my way, I caught sight of some crouton crumbs at the corner of her mouth. The urge to wipe them away for her—or, hell, to lick them away—was strong. I could so easily just picture myself leaning in and lapping everything up, then grinning into her eyes as she laughed over it all. It was such a warm, comfortable vision I felt a little sad that it couldn’t come true.
But then she unconsciously licked at the crumbs, cleaning them before I could even tell her they were there, and she pushed a strand of hair out of her face that the breeze had fluttered into her eyes. “You know,” she went on with no clue how much she affected me. “I kind of freaked out when I saw her picture board. I thought she couldn’t talk at all.”
I laughed. “The picture board?” No. “Mom didn’t really show you that, did she? God, Sarah hasn’t used that stupid thing in over a year, and she only needed it in extreme situations when she was too excited or distressed to talk properly.” I growled in aggravation. “I swear, I love my mother to death, but sometimes the woman is way too overprotective.” And at other times, she was way too under protective. “She can treat Sarah as if she’s still two.”
Reese nodded. “Yeah, I figured the board was unnecessary about one-point-eight seconds after your mom left when I touched a picture of the TV and Sarah rolled her eyes at me.”
