“Do you keep these?”
“Yeah.” She nodded to the slim cabinet between the stove and fridge. “I keep them in here.” She took them from him andsmashed them onto the top shelf with all the other grocery bags she’d brought home at some point.
She hardly ever used them, so they threatened to rain down on her, filling the kitchen with plastic, but she slammed the cupboard quickly before that could happen.
Tarr chuckled. “So I’m going to avoid that cupboard.”
Briar didn’t want this to be weird. She reminded herself that Tarr had spent plenty of time in her cabin. He’d slept in her bed with her, for crying out loud. This would be way tamer than that, and she nodded down the hall.
“Come see your bed for however long you need it.”
Tarr took a couple of steps around the other end of the island and stopped in the mouth of the hallway. Briar thought he’d turn and lead the way—this cabin only had two bedrooms, after all—but he didn’t.
“However long I need it? I thought I was just staying here for tonight.”
“And yet, you brought twelve cups of Rice-a-roni.” Briar’s eyebrows went up. “And a pound of strawberries, and?—”
“Those are for you.”
“—almond milk, and?—”
“Almond milk travels,” he said.
Briar put her hand on her hip and tilted her head as she glared at him. “Tarr, do you think winter is only going to last for one night?”
“I can’t move in with you for the duration of winter,” he said.
“Then don’t,” she said. “But I can’t in good conscience send you back to a porcupine-invested, smoke-filled, non-functional RV.”
“My living situation isn’t ideal.”
“Ideal?” Briar shook her head and started toward him again. “Tarr, it’s insanity.” She gave him a pointed look and brushedpast him. “I made up the couch in the studio. It’s an airbed, so it should be nice.”
She led the way, glad when Tarr’s cowboy boots sounded on the wood behind her. She stayed out in the hall, but indicated that he should go in.
“You put your painting away,” he said.
“It doesn’t fit with the bed up,” she said simply. “And I don’t do a ton of painting in the winter.”
Tarr dropped his duffel bag in the far corner and put his backpack on the bed. “I thought you were doing that sculpting class next month.”
Briar’s pulse blipped through her body, really jumping in the vein in her neck. “What? When did I tell you that?”
“You didn’t tell me,” he said. “You made me sign up for you months ago, as soon as the community center released their winter classes. You said it would fill up if you didn’t sign up on the first day, but you had a bad headache and couldn’t even look at your laptop for long enough to do it.” By the time he’d finished talking, Briar had remembered.
“Oh,” she said, because he had signed up for her.
Monthsago.
“I think you said something about a hot shower?” Tarr unzipped his backpack and lifted out a toiletry bag. Of course. The man had lived on the road for a lot of years, and nothing about him was disorganized.
Briar nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah, go ahead and shower. I’ll make us something for dinner.”
“If you want,” Tarr said. “You don’t have to cook for me, Briar.” He came toward her, and Briar’s nervousness reached new heights.
“Well, I have to eat too.” She ducked away from him just as he arrived in front of her, and she practically ran down the hall and into the kitchen. Her heartbeat thundered up into the backof her throat, only calming slightly when she heard the click of the bathroom door.
The shower started a minute later, and Briar set about steeping herself a cup of tea and baking off a couple of ham-and-cheese-stuffed chicken breasts. She rolled some miniature white potatoes in olive oil, salt, and pepper, and added them to the oven.
