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He let out a low whistle as he set it down. “It’s chilly in here.”
“The thermostat is in the hall.” I motioned in that direction as I dropped a bunch of broccoli on the counter with more force than necessary.
“I didn’t mean the temperature of the apartment.”
I gripped the edge of the counter. “If you’ve got something to say, just say it.”
“I generally do,” he replied casually.
This was a terrible idea. All of it. I picked up my phone to text Vivian I wasn’t ready to see Daniel yet.
“It’ll be hard whether you get this over with tonight or put it off.”
I hesitated, hating he was right. “So what? I’m supposed to just forgive him?” I shoved my phone in my pocket.
“That’s not what I said.” He folded the empty paper bag and smoothed it down. “Do you plan to ignore him forever?”
I finished up the bag I was working on and propped my hip against the counter. “I don’t know.”
His lips parted. My answer surprised me too. Forgiveness wasn’t my strong suit. But this was Daniel.
“You have every right to be pissed off for as long as you want. What’s the harm in hearing him out now?”
I snorted. “Have you met him? What do you think is going to happen? He’ll apologize?”
Stone shrugged. “Stranger things have happened.”
I retrieved a half-sheet pan from the cabinet. “I owe him my life. But does that mean I let him get away with absolutely anything he chooses to do?”
“Is that what you’ve been doing?”
I unwrapped the tenderloin from its packaging. “To a degree. He’s—well, you know how he is. An island.”
He laughed. “That’s putting it mildly.”
“I never believed I deserved to know everything about him. He certainly didn’t force me to tell him my truth.” I paused, searching for the words to accurately describe my feelings. “I wanted him to open up to me, but not out of obligation or guilt.”
“Men aren’t the best at that.”
“I kn—” I stopped myself. I didn’t know. Not really. He and Stone were the only men I’d allowed myself to get to know in my adult life. And I’d kept Stone at a comfortable distance.
Stone looked at me for a second, then asked, “You want a beer?”
I abruptly stopped massaging the tenderloin. We were in my home. I should have already offered, but I was out of sorts. The prickle of unease at the realization we were alone, and that he’d made himself comfortable was subdued. That frightened me. I paused, waited for the wariness, and was uncertain what to do when it didn’t come. “A glass of wine would be nice.”
“This one?” He held up the bottle he’d unpacked from the shopping.
“Please.”
He rolled his sleeves back, serious about his task. His arm muscles flexed as he twisted the corkscrew. I couldn’t take my eyes off of his capable hands as he uncorked the wine.
He poured me a glass. “Want some help?” He eyed my hands coated in butter.
“No, thank you.” I flipped the faucet on with the back of my hand and rinsed them.
He got a beer from the fridge as if he did it every day, and something inside of me was okay with that. I liked that he felt comfortable here.
After a long swallow, he set the bottle down and perched against the island. “Have you ever kept anything from him?”
