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He arched an eyebrow but said nothing.
I blew out a breath of air, stirring the hair around my face. “My grandmother died. About two years ago.” I looked down at my plate, suddenly not hungry. “I’m glad she’s gone.”
“You are?”
I nodded. “I hate to think what would’ve happened if the Iron Horsemen had come to my home and Grammie was still alive. It probably would’ve given her a stroke. Better she’s not here to worry about me.”
We ate a few more bites in silence and then he asked, “What about your mom and dad?”
I shook my head. “Never knew my dad. He just wasn’t part of our lives. Mom died when I was five and left me with Grammie.”
“We’re orphans.”
“Yeah. I guess we are.”
He lifted his beer bottle and I held up mine.
“To orphans,” I said.
“To surviving.” He clinked his bottle against mine and then we drank.
When we finished dinner, I stood up, needing to shatter the intimacy we had shared in the kitchen. This was why I didn’t eat meals with people. Conversation was exchanged, stories about life, laughter over simple jokes. It was easy to fall into a rhythm, lulled into a sense that I wasn’t alone.
That I wasn’t desperately lonely.
I attempted to gather the empty plates but had trouble due to my useless wrist.
“Mia,” Colt said, his hand going to my good arm, stopping me from moving past him toward the sink and dishwasher. “Stop. You don’t have to clean up.”
“It’s the least I can do.”
He looked at me, his brown eyes intense.
I lowered the dishes to the table. “It’s been a long day. A really long day. I’d like to shower and go to bed. Will you plastic-wrap my cast?”
He gently let go of my arm. “Plastic wrap is in that far drawer and the rubber bands should be in there, too.”
I brought the supplies to the kitchen table, pulled up a chair, and faced Colt. Holding up my arm, I waited for him to tear off a piece of Saran wrap. A few minutes later, I had a plastic coating around my cast.
“I think you missed your calling,” I said. “You’re good at that.”
He grinned. “There’s a clean towel in the bathroom for you.”
“Thanks.” I scampered out of the room and headed upstairs, pausing a moment outside of Colt’s bedroom before moving along. I could hear the faint sounds of clanging dishes being loaded into the dishwasher.
The hall bathroom had a spacious tub and shower. Turning on the water, I adjusted the temperature, letting it get hot and steamy. I stripped out of my clothes and looked at myself in the long, rectangular mirror over the sink.
I was a fucking mess.
But I was alive.
I’d lived a lifetime in the span of a few days. I’d dropped my boss off at the bus station, escaped the bikers who’d come to my house, and kissed Colt this afternoon. Even now, my lips were remembering the shape and feeling of his. Between the lust and the heated banter, along with the intimacy of sharing our pasts, it felt like I’d known him a lot longer than I had. I could get used to the idea of relying on him. His house was a home. Though it was masculine, it had personal touches. Touches I hadn’t expected from a man like him.
With Colt I felt protected. He wasn’t what I expected. Shelly had warned me away from bikers, and under normal circumstances I would’ve heeded her advice. But these weren’t normal circumstances, and Colt wasn’t an ordinary biker. As limited as my knowledge was, I knew he was different.
By the time I finished my shower, I was wrung out and ready for bed. I draped a towel around my body and then opened the bathroom door, almost barreling into Colt’s broad chest. I jumped back and let out a squeak.
“Sorry,” he said, his gaze drifting down before coming back up to meet my eyes. “I figured you’d want these.” He held up a pair of pajamas I had forgotten in the dryer.
