It was so over the top, even he could see that there was something behind it. A celebration?
Maybe, but she didn’t seem all that festive right now.
Yeah, well, I don’t usually bring that out in people.
He could only surmise that she was sad to be leaving. And here he was, being his usual curt self in the face of all of this…generosity. She worked her ass off to feed the Poleys and he’d barely done her the courtesy of thanking her. With violent suddenness, his face heated.Andhe’d refused her a silly little dance.
He needed to say something.
In preparation, he inhaled the buttery scent of fresh pastries, and his mouth watered. Something smelled like Christmas. Cinnamon? Was that what that odor was? A neighbor used to bake them cookies when he was a kid, and they’d smelled exactly like this—only not nearly as fragrant.
Stop procrastinating.
He forced himself to speak. “Ms. Smith.”
She half turned to face him, expression blank, brows and chin lifted, ready for a fight. As if to illustrate how little he mattered, her hands continued their smooth slide, scraping steel to steel. His breathing picked up.
“I’m…sorry.” There. He’d said it. Or mumbled it at least.
He turned to go, plate only half-full, then sighed, swiveling back. Shit. The woman had fed him for the past few months, and though her presence perturbed him, hers was admittedly the best food he’d eaten on this continent. Or possibly anywhere. He shut his eyes, breathed in, and opened them again. “And thank you. For everything.”
He punctuated his words with a single nod.
Okay. Done.
Ignoring her open-mouthed expression, he took his plate and left the galley, intent on fueling up as quickly as possible and heading out to find Cortez.
Chapter 5
What was that?
Angel stared at the door, so tense waiting for a punch line that she jumped and nearly dropped her knife when it swung open again a couple seconds later.
The sight of Jameson barreling in deflated her—with relief. Probably.
“Saw Coop rushin’ off with a plate full of food.” He raised one red brow at her. “What’d you do to him?”
“Me?” The word came out a little too shrill. “Are you kidding with—”
“Yes, gorgeous.” He winked as he walked up and grabbed a plate. “Just teasin’. Coop’s the best man here, but Lord knows he’s not good with…”
What—words? Women? Mere human beings?
“…emotion.”
Squinting, she opened her mouth to grill him on what emotionshecould possibly be responsible for but then stopped abruptly. There was that totally weird apology to consider, after all. Not to mention the most out-of-the-blue, awkward thanks she’d ever received.
She glanced at the door, thinking of the way Ford had stalked out, wolfing down his food.
Actually, “wolf” was a good description for the man. A lone one—fierce, unapproachable, with that rough, rarely used, gravelly voice. There was something kind of wolf-like, too, about his face with its broad, flat, angular features, lips that somehow looked both hard and curved, and square jaw. He was remote, stiff and smooth as sharply carved ice. Except when he looked her way.
She let out a humorless sound. Right. She alone was responsible for chiseling that extra line of annoyance between his eyes. The one that made him look angry.
What the hell had he thanked her for anyway? For slinging institutional food his way? For asking him to dance? And the apology? That was—
She caught Jameson’s eyes on her and quickly looked away, flushing hot.
Thankfully, Pam chose that moment to sail into the galley, followed by a couple researchers and a little cluster of interns. Pam’s “Hey, y’all!” led to a long, sappy breakfast, full of teary-eyed farewells and hugs in a quieter, more sober version of the night before.
