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Decision made.
She lifted her head to accept, but at the tender expression in Marc’s soft, unguarded brown eyes—and the hope in their depths—the words got stuck in her throat.
Maybe this was a mistake.
As if he’d sensed her sudden hesitation, his demeanor morphed from serious to playful. “Not that I’m trying to rush your decision, but your frozen flounder is beginning to thaw.” He indicated one of the bags in her cart. “If you don’t get it home fast, you’ll have squishy fish.”
That was true. And this was only a ride home, after all, not a lifetime commitment.
Taking a deep breath, she took the plunge. “If you’re certain you don’t mind, I accept—as long as you keep your promise to fill me in on your conversation with Jack.”
“I never break a promise.” After holding her gaze for a charged second, he swept a hand out for her to precede him. “Shall we?”
She struck out for his car, and once they loaded her groceries in the trunk, he circled to the passenger door and pulled it open for her.
“I can’t say I’m sorry to leave this parking lot behind.” She held onto the frame as she eased into the seat, trying not to be too obvious about favoring her bad leg. The tumble to the pavement had taken a toll on more than her knuckles.
“Old injury bothering you?” Marc leaned down, concern etched on his features.
The man didn’t miss anything.
“It’ll be fine. I’ll sit on a soft cushy chair after I get home and prop my feet up.”
“Then let’s get you there ASAP.” He closed the door and walked around the hood to the driver’s side, giving the area a sweep as he took his place behind the wheel. “Everything here seems back to normal.”
While he put the car in gear and backed out, she surveyed the lot. Two police cars remained stationed at the perimeter, but the lack of witnesses hadn’t left law enforcement much to work with. The first bullet hadn’t been found, and the one in her car might or might not be helpful. The stores in the strip mall were back in business, and customers were once more bustling about as they completed their Saturday errands.
“It’s hard to believe that forty-five minutes ago we were all taking cover from a shooter. At least there were no injuries.”
“Except your knuckles.”
“They’ll heal.” She shifted the conversation to a more important subject. “Tell me about you and Jack.”
Marc hitched up one side of his mouth. “Bottom line, he wanted to check me out.”
“Why?” was the obvious next question—but she already knew the answer.
More to the point, what had her brother told Marc to explain why he felt it wasnecessaryto check him out?
As the silence lengthened, Marc glanced over at her. “Your brother’s a straight shooter.”
She stifled a groan.
Considering how he and Cara had ribbed her at their family dinner last weekend, who knew what he’d said?
Bracing, she gripped the seat belt strapped across her rib cage. “Did he go into protective mode?”
“That would be a fair assessment. And his comments were underscored with a very clear warning, which I took in the spirit it was intended.” Marc flipped on his blinker.
She narrowed her eyes. “What kind of warning?”
“That if I messed with his sister, he’d break my legs—or worse.”
Oh, for crying out loud.
“Please tell me you’re kidding.”
He threw her a grin. “I’m kidding.”
