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“Wait, what?” I try to apologize. “I didn’t mean that in a bad way. I’m just surprised, okay?” I wave my hand. “You know what? Never mind. Can we just start over?”
She sighs. “Yes, sure, I guess.” Holding the container out to me once more, she says, “I made homemade beef stew the other day. I have more than enough, so I thought I’d bring some over as a thank-you for helping me out last night.”
Ah, so it’s stew, not soup.
I take the container and hold it up to my nose. Even though there’s a plastic lid creating a strong seal, I detect the hint of a delicious beefy aroma.
“Mmm, smells good,” I say. “Looks like I know what I’ll be having for dinner later today.”
Looking pleased, Addison shares, “It’s my grandma’s recipe. I had some the other night after it was done, and, if I do say so myself, I think it turned out pretty good.”
“I’m sure it’s delicious,” I reply as I lean back in the doorway so I can set the stew on a nearby stand. “Thank you.”
She swishes her hand in the air. “It’s not that big of a deal, Hayden. But you’re welcome.” Turning like she’s about to leave, she falters and murmurs, “Crap.”
“What?” I ask.
“I forgot your hoodie. I meant to give it back, but I left it up on my bed.”
Before I can censor myself, I raise a brow and say, “On your bed, huh? Did you sleep in it?”
I really, really, for some reason, want her to say yes. And though she doesn’t confirm or deny, I can tell by the way she starts blushing like crazy that she actually fucking did.
Holy hell!
“You did, didn’t you?” I say, again without thinking. “Or you thought about it, huh? Am I right?”
Shit, now she’s mad.
Crossing her arms and shooting me a look of disgust, she snaps, “I most certainly did not sleep in your hoodieorthink about doing such a thing. I simply set it on the bed this morning so I wouldn’t forget it.”
“Ah, but you did forget it, eh? Maybe that was on purpose. Subconsciously, you know?”
“Have you lost it?” she asks as she gawks at me like I have.
“No.” I shake my head. “Not at all. But maybe you have.”
Damn, I can’t stop digging my own grave. So much for our shaky truce. That shit just crumbled all to hell.
“You know what?” She starts tapping her foot. “I think I’ll just take that stew back.”
“What?” I scoff as I block the door, like she might be serious enough to barge in and grab the container from the stand I set it on. “No way, babe. You gave it to me. Not to mention, I thought it was your way of saying ‘thank you.’”
“It is,” she says, capitulating. “I didn’t really mean that.” She waves her hand. “Just keep it, okay?”
She seems calmer now, like she’s given up.
Good, I like to win.
And because of that desire for victory at all costs, even in this dumb spat, I can’t resist getting the last word in.
Snarkily, I bite out, “Wait, I don’t know if I want to keep your stew after all. Are you sure you didn’t poison it or something? I could see you doing that.”
Without missing a beat, she volleys back, “You know what? I should have poisoned it. Then I’d never have to see your stupid face ever again.”
“Stupid?” I snort as I run my hand down my smoothly shaved cheek. “I’ve been told it’s a nice face. It’s soft this morning too. Do you want to touch it and see for yourself?”
“Ugh, you…you…you wish.”
