His lips twitch. “That you are.”
Slowly retracting back to the counter, he returns to sipping his coffee. I take a sip of mine and wince. He notices it and walks to the fridge with a small smile. “Here.” He grabs a carton of half-and-half and passes it to me.
“Thanks. How did you know?” I say as I pour a hefty amount into my coffee. I like my coffee black when I need it to kick-start me on early mornings; any other days—which are rare—I prefer the time to consume it lazily, meaning I like to add copious amount of cream.
“I just do,” he replies proudly, and then adds out of nowhere, “You’re way too good for Dick, by the way.”
He chooses the wrong time to say this, and my sip of coffee goes down the wrong pipe. Waiting for me to cough it out, he asks, “Need some help?”
Stopping his advance with a raised hand, I finally take a lungful of air. “Thanks for the late-breaking news flash.”
His gaze is intense. “I’m serious.”
“Jericho.”
He glances back at me. “He doesn’t get another chance.”
The way he says it—so matter-of-factly—sends a little jolt down my spine.
It’s not like I was planning to get back with my ex, but Jericho’s unhealthy obsession with it makes me curious. “Don’t get me wrong, I have no interest in getting back with Dick, but why does it matter to you so much?”
The corner of his lips twitches. “Do you really need to ask that?”
“I guess I do.” Spreading my arms, I shrug one shoulder.
“I can get… protective.” It takes him a second to find the right word.
The warmth of his words spreads through me like a sip of a warm drink on a cold evening.
“And you’re always this protective?” Even though I know he is. The way he stepped up for Karina at the diner, and Grandma at our first meeting when he thought I was rude to her.
He shrugs. “Sometimes. But in this case, I’d call it—” He trails off. Clears his throat. “Possessive.”
That word hangs in the air. I sip my coffee and look away, tasting the word on my tongue. Trying to figure out what I’m feeling about his declaration. Looking for any ounce of fear.
But I find none.
“What about you?” I ask.
“What about me?”
“Is there someone out in the wild haunting Jericho’s dreams?”
“More like nightmares.” His answer makes me uncomfortable. It implicates that he indeed had or still has a woman.
“Oh.” My disappointed tone and the face to match are probably loud enough because he starts talking rapidly.
“No, it’s not like that.”
“You don’t have to explain anything to me, you know.” I move to the sink and start washing my cup for something to do with my hands; otherwise I’d fidget with anything I could put my hands on.
“Nora, stop.” He walks up to me and places his hand on my arm. “Stop, please.”
His pleading tone makes me pause, and I turn off the water and face him. He steps backward and pushes his hand into his hair, raking it into a wild state.
“See? I told you I’m not good at this.”
His voice lost his confidence just like mine moments ago. His brows look worried as his eyes dip to the floor. He looks like the epitome of distress, and I feel a pang of guilt. Maybe, just maybe, this gorgeous, strong, and safe man has even less experience in this dating charade than I do.
