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“So . . .” He hesitates. “What are you doing now?”
“Nothing.”
“Oh . . . me neither.”
“Okay.”
His eyes search mine. “Okay . . .”
“Okay.” I fake a smile. “Goodbye.”
His face falls. “Goodbye?”
Why is he repeating everything I say?
“Goodbye,” I say flatly. What does he think is going to happen?
He tells me that he doesn’t love me and to go sleep with someone else, kills half my garden with a lawn mower, and then buys me six crappy plants and has the gall to think all is forgiven?
No, Mr. James, I don’t think so.
“See you later.” I close the door in his face. I lean up against the back of it and smile in relief.
Thank god that’s over with.
An hour and a half later, I’m freshly showered and in my robe.
Knock, knock, knock. At the door, Barry is wagging his tail, so I know it’s someone we know. I open the door.
“Henley,” I say in surprise.
He gives me a beautiful broad smile, wearing navy satin boxer shorts and a white T-shirt. He smells like soap and heavenly man, and I get a vision of my legs around my ears . . . yeesh.
He’s holding a coffee mug in his hand.
“What’s up?” I try to act casual and not impressed at all.
“I was wondering if you had some spare milk?”
I frown. “What?”
“I want a cup of coffee, but I’m out of milk.”
“Oh . . .” I shrug. Not what I thought he was here for, but whatever. “Sure, come in.”
I go to the fridge and take out the milk. I go to take the coffee cup from him, and he pulls it out of my reach. “What are you doing?” He frowns.
“Getting you some milk.”
“Not cow’s milk.”
“Huh?”
“I want breast milk.”
He did not just say that.
I bubble up a surprised giggle. “You want what?”
