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Hmm. I want to go home. I want to get on a plane, and I want to forget that any of this happened.
Instead, I huff, “I don't know. You tell me, this is your house.”
“My mom came a few days ago with about six bags of groceries. Shit I don't need. Shit I don't use. Chocolate chips. Cream cheese. Flour.” He lists the items, eyeing me with those penetrating eyes. “She bring all that for you?”
I feel my cheeks burn as I sniff. “Maybe.”
He's not amused. He's also not fooled.
“She brought it for you.”
“Okay,” I relent, feeling on trial. “She brought it for me.”
He dips his chin, peering down at me. “You gonna bake?”
He makes me feel so small, but I’m not sure it’s a bad thing. “Do you like baking?”
“Eating it, yeah.”
“But you don't like baking?” I push.
“Nope.”
“Right. Okay, well, I'm here.” I shrug. “I may as well make use of the time that I'm going to be here. What do you like?”
“Whenever you want to make me, I'll eat.”
“Great. A man who doesn't complain,” I smart, eyeing the muscle that twitches in his cheek.
I think he almost smiled.
I thinkIalmost made him smile. Why do I like that as much as I do?
I shift on the spot, tugging at the zipper on my coat.
I'm starting to get hot. This jacket is warm, and his house is warm. I think smell a wood burning stove.How did I not smell that before?Oh, right, I’d been distracted by him and all the other insanity that’s gone down tonight.
This place is like a dream. Too bad he's here. It could have been perfect.
“It's been a long day,” I sigh. His eyes trail the zipper as it moves down my body. I feel hot. Hotter than I should from my jacket alone.
I feel like he's watching me undress. It feels inappropriate. And, somehow, I like it.
What is wrong with me?
I pull in breath. “If I'm staying—"
“You're staying.”
I nod, my heart kicking in my chest even as I try to play it cool. “As I was saying, if I'm staying, I'd like to get cleaned up. It's been a really long day, and I'm exhausted. I’d like to splash my face with some water and get changed.”
“Right.” He peels himself from the wall, tearing his dark eyes from my body. “I'll show you to your room.”
“My room? You were prepared for me?”
He side-eyes me. “Same day Mom came with the groceries; she came with new sheets. A new duvet, and new pillows. The guest bedroom has been made up for you. Though she told me it was for her.”
Again, I feel hot. “Of course.”
