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“We have to be where we say we’ll be when we say we’ll be there.”
“Or?”
“Or,” he snapped. “Someone may assume we’re in trouble and take action.”
“Without his truck?” Tess asked as Daire reappeared. “He wouldn’t have got far.”
H had other things in the bed of the truck, he’d told her it was full. But Daire didn’t go back to retrieve those things. He came over and relieved her of the grocery bags without a word.
Left on the spot for a second after he retraced his steps with the new load, she opened her mouth to protest, but couldn’t come up with the words. Damnit. Giving up, Tess followed H around the trailer and went inside.
With the three of them in there, the laundry bag and duffel on the recliners and the grocery bags on the counter and table, the Beast felt tiny. The trailer was a cozy living space, safe, even though it was confined. Danny hadn’t taken up as much space as Daire. It sort of pissed her off that he was there, moving around, putting things away like the place belonged to him. Sure, it did, but there was still a disconnect in her brain that couldn’t fathom Danny and Daire as the same person.
H didn’t even try to put anything away, he retrieved something from his duffel then went to sit in the dinette. Hoping to open the space up a little, Tess got the laundry bag, intending to take it to the bedroom. Except she only got three steps before Daire closed the pantry and with one long stride, stopped her dead. He took the laundry bag and disappeared up the trailer with it.
Once again, he’d usurped her purpose. Pushing out her chin, she fought to contain her irritation. Shouting at him would only prove he was succeeding in annoying her, which was probably exactly what he wanted.
Retrieving a frying pan from the drawer under the microwave, she put it on the stove just as Daire started back down the trailer.
When Tess saw his hand coming toward her pan, she grabbed it up. “No,” she said, holding it to her chest.
Just like the previous day, he averted his attention, avoiding her eyes. “I’ll do it,” he said.
“No.”
“I’ll make pancakes.”
Shaking her head, she pointed the pan at him. “I don’t want pancakes.”
Backing up a few steps, Daire opened the fridge and pantry, scanning both. “Bacon, waffles, oatmeal… fruit salad? Whatever you want.”
Breakfast. They’d been up for hours, yet they were only just getting their first meal of the day. “I can cook.”
Daire closed the pantry and the fridge. “No, you can’t.”
She gestured with the pan. “I can! I’m not some super, secret agent spy, whatever, but I can put breakfast together.”
Slowly, he came closer and surprised her by making eye contact. The link disabled some part of her; he got close enough to curl his fingers around the base of the pan handle, relieving her of it.
“No… you can’t.”
The sort of wince in his gaze clued her in. “I can’t?” He shook his head once. “I don’t believe it. You always ate my food.”
“I spent six months in a Russian gulag that served better chow.”
Her jaw swung loose.
H laughed. “He’s a perfectionist, Tess. Don’t take it personally.”
Turning to growl at H’s amusement, she moved to let Daire get closer to the stove. H didn’t care that she was offended, he was reading the newspaper he’d picked up in town.
“Anything?” Daire asked.
She supposed he wasn’t talking to her when H responded. “Not yet.”
The muttering came in time with the strengthening of his brow.
“Might be too early,” Daire said. When he got even closer, she leaped away. He opened a hand at the dinette. “Please sit down.”
