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“I’ll make you something.”
I have absolutely no idea why he asks me anything anymore.
Stepping deeper into the house, I do little checks of the windows. Closed tight, locked. No way in.
That’s also what I thought yesterday, though.
Casper heads into the kitchen while I hang back, wandering around like I’m lost. There’s no time for me to panic. I have to get used to the house again because, despite what Casper said to comfort me last night, I will have to be here alone again.
I sit down on the sofa, back rigid and stomach uneasy, while I wait for Casper to make me some food.
What alternate dimension have we both stepped into?
CHAPTERTWELVE
“For fuck’s sake, Ainsley, all you have in your fridge is cheese and wine!” he yells from the kitchen a minute later.
I didn’t think I’d be able to smile right now, but here I am. It’s a little bit of normality after a crazy, scary night. Besides, I can picture his irritated scowl, and that’s always funny.
“Yeah, I was going shopping at some point today.”
It’s a complete lie. I was going to have a sandwich, wine, and chocolate for dinner because I can’t be bothered with the supermarket.
Casper will only moan at me if I tell him that, though.
He pops his head around the doorframe and, wow, he really doesn’t look impressed. Dark brows are pulled together into a scowl, his jaw tight. Of course, he doesn’t understand what it’s like to go shopping. He probably has Waitrose deliver his food.
“There’s bread,” I tell him, trying to conceal my amusement.
“Cheese on toast it is,” he says with an exasperated sigh that brings my smile out again.
A week ago, he would’ve been the very last person I would want to be with in a situation like this. I don’t know if it’s because he was decent when someone was in the garden or what. He’s just the right dose of protective and understanding with his usual cocky, brooding self.
I’m ignoring the nastiness at the minute.
“I’ve not had cheese on toast in ages. My aunt makes it every Sunday for lunch and…” I clamp my mouth shut. Hello, personal details. I’ve already told him way too much about my home life. I don’t trust him enough to pour my heart out. This side of him might not last, no matter how much I would like it to.
“And what?” he asks, stepping into the room.
“Um.”
“Have you forgotten already?” he asks.
“No.”
“Then, what is it?”
Why on earth does he want to know? He doesn’t look amused at my simple little life with my aunt and uncle. In fact, he waits patiently as if he’s genuinely interested.
In me.
Weird.
“We’d have cheese on toast and then go for a walk in the forest near our house. There’s a pond nearby, and I used to feed the ducks when I was younger.”
“You would eat lunch and walk.” There’s still no amusement on that brooding face of his.
“Yes, we would eat and walk.”
