“And you’ve never been married before? Or had any kids?”
“No.” He shakes his head quickly. “No crazy exes or anything, either.”
“Good. I mean, that simplifies things.”
“Yeah.”
We nod in agreement as the silence stretches. “Should I make us some more coffee for the road?”
“Sure, that’d be great. I’m just gonna,” he pauses to tilt his head in the direction of his bedroom, “get less naked. I mean, I should probably be wearing clothes when we tell your brother we’re living together. We don’t want Rowan to get the wrong idea, right?”
“Mm-hmm,” I squeak, unable to stop myself from taking him in one more time.
“Meet you in the Jeep in a few minutes?”
I shoot him a thumbs up before I remember my burns, then I cringe and hide my hand behind my back. He smirks before he moves to go around me, looking amused. But then we accidentally do one of those painfully awkward shuffles in which we both step to the same side and block one another’s passage through the tiny kitchen. It takes three tries before we manage to escape, including one full-on body bump that’s certain to haunt me for the rest of my life.
CHAPTER 9
daisy
Thirty minutes later,we’re merging onto the interstate, each of us sipping from the travel mugs I fixed. I’d offered for him to join me in a rosary earlier, since it’s a LaFleur tradition to start a longer drive that way, but he politely passed.
“So, uh, I was thinking we could just take turns asking one another questions, but that we could answer our own questions, too,” I begin once I put my rosary away.
“Okay,” he agrees hesitantly. “Are we doing the full transparency thing now, or are we allowed to pass on some of these?”
“We might as well base this fake marriage on honesty, right?” I offer, and he huffs out a laugh.
“Might as well,” he agrees, and I adjust my position in the passenger seat to face him.
“First question, what’s your middle name?”
“That’s an easy one,” he mumbles. “It’s Nicholas.”
I smirk. “We have the same name.”
“What?”
“I’m Daisy Colette, named after St. Colette, who was named after St. Nicholas.”
He hums. “How ‘bout that.”
“Yeah.” We’re both quiet for a second, and I whisper a prayer for the intercession of our patron saints. “Your turn to ask a question,” I say once I’m done.
“I’m not sure I’m …” He frowns and coughs lightly. “Why don’t you handle the questions for now?”
“Isn’t there something you’d like to know about me before giving me your last name?”
He shrugs. “I don’t really do relationships, so I don’t bother asking about this stuff most of the time. And the only questions that come to mind now are related to your medical history.”
“Oh,” I reply thoughtfully. “Well, ask away. I don’t mind. You have a right to know exactly what you’re getting yourself into.”
“It’s not that. I just … I’m not sure I know how to care about anything else.”
I turn to regard his expression again. His eyes are on the road ahead of him, but I can see the wheels turning in his head.
“Landry, have you ever been in love?”
