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After dropping his bag near the front door, he joins me in the kitchen, but instead of saying anything, he just stares in my direction.
Even our limited interaction since he got back yesterday has been awkward. We haven’t discussed the kiss. His demand made it final before he ever left, so there is really no point in bringing it up again.
Unbidden, my eyes drop to his mouth as his jaw flexes. A low growl rumbles out of his chest, but it stops mid-release like he had to check his response.
“Aria goes to bed at seven,” he says.
“Yes,” I say, because I’ve been here with him helping with her for over a week. I’m well aware of her schedule.
“I don’t want you introducing new foods while I’m away.”
“Okay.” That’s easy enough. She’s his child after all.
“She still has three days of antibiotics left.”
I nod, my gaze now on his.
“Don’t give it to her on an empty stomach.”
“Okay.”
His eyes narrow with each agreement.
“I don’t want anyone else in my house while I’m gone.”
“Not even Boomer?”
“Boomer will be working,” he snaps.
“I see.”
His fingers twitch at his sides, and I refuse trying to analyze what he’s fighting right now.
“I want you to call me with any problems.”
“I will.” This I can agree with easily because I’d do this even if he didn’t request it of me. “I’d like to go back to the daycare if that’s okay with you.”
His head tilts, and I don’t know if it’s because I’m asking permission or if he thinks I’m being a brat because of it.
“I don’t want you driving Aria.”
I lean against the counter, ready to argue that I’m a fantastic driver, but I know his request is more than just a jab at my driving. Losing a spouse in a car accident would make any parent cautious.
“Will anyone be at the clubhouse to pick us up and drop me off?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe it would be best if you take us with you this morning, and we can stay there while you’re gone.”
He visibly wars with this idea, and I’d give just about anything to hear his concerns for either choice out loud.
“I think she’s more comfortable here.”
I nod, knowing he had a hard time with her when he was staying at the clubhouse.
“I’ll make arrangements for you to be picked up and brought back home if you’re insisting on going back to work.”
Going back to work was always the plan, but I don’t remind him of it. I could’ve returned days ago once Aria started feeling better, but he never brought it up, so neither did I.
“Would you rather I didn’t work?” I ask instead.
“I’m not saying that.”
I clamp my lips between my teeth, but my head raises an inch in irritation.
As if he can’t control his response, one eyebrow jerks up in challenge. I remember him saying it drove him crazy that I didn’t argue with him, and although I’m not doing it on purpose, my lack of dispute is getting a reaction out of him. I swell with something I can’t describe at the thought of annoying him, because everything he’s saying right now is making me feel exactly the same way.
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay here alone?”
I narrow my eyes at him because there’s a very good chance he doesn’t think I can handle Aria alone, or maybe he doesn’t trust me as much as I thought he did.
“I can stay with her at the clubhouse,” I say with a little more than mild irritation because we just discussed this. “If you don’t trust me, then maybe you need to find—”
“I trust you. I’m asking if you feel safe.”
Well, that’s a little different. “I think I’ll be fine.”
“You think?”
I shrug. “I’ll try tonight, and if I get scared, I’ll call someone from the clubhouse to come get me.”
“I don’t want you to stress Aria out, and being scared will stress her out.”
I take numerous deep breaths as I stand there silently. Breathing through my nose, my lips part for the exhales, and it draws his attention. Is he remembering the kiss the same way I do?
I know he didn’t hate it. I felt how much he enjoyed the kiss because he pressed his enjoyment right to the center of me. Maybe he hated that he liked it, but there was no denying the pleasure I was able to give him for a few brief moments in time.
“Just call me if you get scared.”
“Okay,” I agree, praying this will be the end of our enraging conversation.
Maybe he wants to be the one to comfort me, but I shove that thought away as quickly as it pops up.
“Okay,” he agrees, stepping closer and holding out his hand.
I look down at the thing, wanting to laugh at the ridiculousness of the offering, but I shake it, hating the way tingles run up my arm at the contact. It will only make me ache more for him, and I do enough of that already.
