“A chocolate morsel disaster?” Indy looks at me in confusion. “What’s a chocolate morsel disaster?”
He looks so cute, with his hair extra unruly and tumbling over his forehead, all I can do is stare at him for a second. I can’tresist running my fingers through his hair before explaining, “I was thinking about baking brownies. Those cheesecake swirl ones you liked. I was holding the chocolate, and when I heard my phone, it startled me. So.” I give him a little shrug. “I dropped the package. And I didn’t want all the chocolate going everywhere.”
“A chocolate morsel disaster. I see.” He presses his lips together. One corner of his mouth twitches. “Well. We wouldn’t want that.”
“We wouldn’t. Because then I’d have to clean up hundreds of pieces of chocolate off the floor. And mop it after.”
Indy stares at me. His lips twitch again. In a solemn tone, he says, “Thatwouldbe terrible.”
“It would. Because then I wouldn’t have the chocolate to make your brownies.” I glance at the kitchen island, where a small buffet of baked goods is arranged. “Although, I suppose Imighthave already made too much.”
He follows my gaze. After a silent second, he asks, “Bea. Did you make all that just since you got home last night?”
“Yes?”
“Bea.” It’s gently stern. “Did you sleep at all?”
“Some.” If lying in bed and staring at the ceiling counts, at least. “Anyway, cooking relaxes me. So it was basically the same as sleeping.”
Indy studies my face. “What else did you cook?”
“Oh, just some things for you and the guys. Beer cheese dip, tortilla pinwheels, pulled pork for sandwiches…”
“Bea. You didn’t have to make all that.”
His stomach rumbles in argument.
“I know you said you were fine,” I reply. “But I was feeling a little anxious. And I wanted to have some nice things for you to eat when you got home.”
A beat later, my cheeks heat at the realization of what I said.
Home.
B and Aishis home, obviously. But that wasn’t what I meant.
I meant when he came home to me.
Which is crazy to think, considering.
We’ve only been dating for a couple of weeks. Once this thing with Manny Davis is over, there won’t be a reason for me to stay here anymore. I’ll be free to go back to DC, to go back to my job?—
My job where they all thought I killed Jenna? In the hospital where I was attacked?
How can I go back there?
And what about me and Indy? What kind of relationship can we have when we’re living across the country from each other?
It’s not like I haven’t thought about this before. But I always set it away for later. Except laterisnow.
“Something’s wrong,” Indy states. “Something more than some ruined chocolate.” He cradles my bruised hand in his. “And something more than hitting your hand. Which we really need to get ice on.”
I meet his gaze, debating.
Do I bring up my concerns about the future, knowing there’s no simple answer to any of them? Indy’s life is here. Mine is in DC—at least, what’s left of it. Our relationship is still so new.
Anyway, Indy just got back. He’s got to be tired. The last thing he wants to do right now is have a serious discussion about our future.
“Are you still worried about Davis?” Indy asks. His features go stony. “Because you don’t need to. He’s in jail. The DA said the judge won’t grant bail. With all the evidence we found already, there’s no way Davis won’t be found guilty.”
