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He held out a hand. “Give me the knife.”
Why would she do that? “But it’s mine.”
“Girl, I am not going to have you stabbing yourself with it. Hand it over.”
“I wasn’t going to stab me. I was going to stab you. I mean, not you. I thought you were trying to grab me.”
“Do you pull a knife on everyone who calls out your name?”
It sounded crazy when he put it like that.
“I didn’t really register you saying my name, I just felt you touch my shoulder.”
That was true. She’d heard him call her name, but it hadn’t filtered through her brain that it was him.
He narrowed his gaze at her. “Knife, Maeve.”
With a sigh, she handed it over. He eyed it, running his finger lightly along the blade.
She hissed. “Careful.”
“This is sharp.”
“What would be the point in carrying around a blunt knife?” she asked. That would be just stupid, right?
He grunted and flicked the blade away. “Come on, let’s go into your apartment and you can explain how you didn’t hear me.”
She really didn’t want to do that. But she knew she didn’t have much choice. With a sigh, she let him into her room.
He studied the knife. She knew he was reading the inscription on the back.
Remember, you are strong, brave, and forever free.
“Uh, hi.” She gave him a weak smile. “So, you want some waffles?”
“You can make waffles?”
“Uh, well, I’ve got those ones you put in the toaster. Like Pop-Tarts . . . except waffles. I’m trying to branch out.”
He kept watching her. She sighed.
“Where’d you get this knife?” he asked.
“A friend.”
“Hmm. They put the inscription on the back?”
“Yes.”
Suddenly, she was exhausted and a bit light-headed. She probably needed to eat something. He set the knife on the table.
“You shouldn’t threaten something you’re not willing to go through with.”
“Who said I wouldn’t go through with it?” she challenged. She sat on a chair, putting her bags on the table.
He eyed her. “What’s wrong?”
“Just tired. Didn’t sleep well last night.”
