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“This.” She held out a paper carton filled with what appeared to be scalloped potatoes.
I took it and followed her to the living room. Carefully, I set everything on the coffee table.
She settled on the sofa and handed me a fork.
“Another Trish specialty?”
“Actually, no. Well, the potatoes are. But your dad made the chicken.”
I paused halfway to digging into the food. “He did?”
“Yep. He said it used to be one of your favorites.”
I peered into the other carton. Pieces of his famous drunken chicken were piled inside.
“I don’t understand. Did you meet him on purpose?”
“He was going to bring it over to us later. Since I ran into him, and he doesn’t live far from Trish’s, I went with him to pick it up.”
I forked some potatoes. “Did we make plans I didn’t know about?”
“No.” Her features brightened when she tasted the chicken. “That’s so good,” she said around a bite.
“I’ve got good taste,” I said smugly.
“Apparently, you do.” She reached for her wine and took a long sip. “Your dad tried to put up a good face, but he’s worried. Trish got it out of him that Marlow barely spoke when he picked up Blake this morning.”
I dropped the carton of potatoes on the coffee table. “Thought you wanted to talk about your day.”
“That wasn’t an attempt to get you to talk about yesterday.” She picked up the abandoned potatoes. “You’re close with him. I thought you’d want to know.”
I polished off my beer and went for another one, an obvious attempt at escape. Was she trying to get me to open up about yesterday? Even if she wasn’t, the mention of my sister was still picking at a fresh wound.
I was always the one having to give answers, yet Baker managed to stay on neutral ground. She hadn’t told me a damn thing about her past. Maybe I didn’t have a right to know, but I wanted to.
And that was the problem. No matter how I promised myself I wouldn’t get close to another woman, I couldn’t seem to stop trying. Inviting—no, wanting—her to be part of the new building was all on me. There was this constant push and pull I kept getting dragged into. I couldn’t help it.
It was as if my attraction to her was beyond physical, and that wasn't wise. It was so confusing. I wanted her with me, and I hadn't been lying when I said I wanted to continue the living arrangements once the apartment above the workshop was ready. But after the last two days with Marlow and then my mother, I didn't have the capacity to work through this. And that ticked me off.
When I dropped onto the sofa, I slouched in the corner and nursed my drink. We were slowly pushing past every boundary. If she got to know my problems, I wanted to know some of hers.
“What were you doing in that shelter?”
The fork fell from Baker’s fingers and clattered to the floor. She hurried to her feet and knocked her glass over, a river of wine snaking to the edge of the table.
Baker staggered around the sofa, gripping the arm as she passed. “None of your business,” she whispered.
A door slammed. I immediately regretted hurting her. But had I asked the question for her sake? Or to push her away because she was too close?
Chapter Sixteen
Baker
I collapsedon my bed and held a pillow to my chest.
The sheets were cold, deepening the chill setting in my bones.
I’d overreacted. The question was inevitable. One I didn’t want to answer. One I couldn’t bear to answer.
