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Ulk.
He brushed it off his fingers and moved to recline, legs crossed, in the corner of my couch, arm stretched across the back.
I scooched away from him.
But I found his deathly calm unnerving.
“Promise me you’ll never do something like that again,” he demanded in a voice much like his current attitude.
“What would you have done?” I asked.
“Chased after him. But I have several pounds on you, several inches, and I know those passages like the back of my hand, playing hide and seek with Danny, cousins and friends, and other fuckwittery kids get into when they’re young.”
“Did you find the shoe?”
“Yes.”
“Is it Dorothy’s?”
“From the pictures of her that night, it appears to be.”
“Was that shoe, to your knowledge, housed in storage here in this house?”
“Not to my knowledge, no.”
“So this is our bad guy, or girl, and they’re escalating in the creepiest way imaginable.”
“Daphne—”
“I don’t need my boyfriend dressing me down in front of his parents, brother and my sister.”
“Then don’t do anything else that’s stupid.”
Oh.
My.
God.
I moved to stand up.
He caught my hand and pulled me back down, much closer to him. I was almost on his lap.
“Ian, I wish to leave.”
“I know you do, but we’re making a deal right now that when we have an argument, we sort it. One doesn’t leave the other and stew, which invariably makes it worse. We communicate and move on. We’re communicating.”
It was tough to find the high road when someone was hogging it.
And now, woefully, I was understanding Daniel’s actions of the day before.
I went back to glaring.
“Do we have a deal?” he asked softly.
“You can’t fight fire with maturity, it’s annoying.”
His lips twitched.
