I cross my arms over my chest. “Sorry for what?”
He scowls. “For being an asshole.”
“With making me drive for a full day? Or the radio thing? Maybe for continually issuing orders without saying please? Or is this about you refusing to stop for a bathroom?”
He purses his lips together and keeps glaring at me, though it’s the kind of frustrated glare that could mean he’s irritated with me or he’s irritated with himself and doesn’t know how to handle that.
“For leaving me alone last night?” I press, partially to see how far I can go, and partially because he was an ass over a lot of things. “For not offering me the bed like a gentleman? For making faces at me when I ate in the car yesterday,which is a human necessity, Oliver.”
“For taking your phone,” he spits out. “For the way I took your other phone. And for—yes. For all of that. Will you take a damn donut with sprinkles and get ready to go? Ten hours in the car today. Shouldn’t waste time.”
I tilt my head. “Sprinkles?”
The exasperation rolling off him is so thick it could suffocate a lesser woman. “Yes.”
“Chocolate frosting?”
“It’s blue and green. Like your hair.”
It’s my turn to blink.
He got me a donut that reminded him of my hair?
That’s—huh.
I think that qualifies as sweet.
Maybe?
Or is this more psychological warfare?
I step around him and lift the lid on the donut box.
Five round donuts with swirly blue-green frosting under glittery gold sprinkles stare up at me.
He didn’t merely find donuts.
He found fancy donuts that remind him of me and my hair.
“Do they taste good?” I ask.
“How should I know?”
“One’s missing.”
“I don’t expect you to have the same opinion or standards for donuts that I have.”
That’s the strangest answer I’ve ever heard. I’m intrigued.
I poke at the coffee on the counter. “Did you make this?”
“Yes.”
“Did you poison it?”
“Drink the goddamn coffee, Daphne.”
“I can’t help you drive if I’m dead. Or unconscious. And you should definitelynotdrive ten hours yourself. You’re getting better, but you’re still not very good.”
