“Any particular kind?” Without any fanfare, she heads down one of the aisles, as if I just asked her for a stick of butter or bottle of antacid.
Hoping I don’t knock anything over with my cane, I follow her footsteps until they stop. “I…don’t know. Shit. This was a mistake.”
“Dax, hon. You’ve been coming in here for almost five years now. And in all that time, you’ve never ordered two sandwiches. Never looked so…happy either. Though you need more sleep. So, you want plain, ribbed, flavored, studded, multi-color, or these ones that say ‘warming’ on them?”
Fuck. “Plain.” And for the love of God, don’t ask me any more questions.
“Got ‘em. That bacon should be about done. Come on now. You want to take my arm?”
I don’t think I could walk straight if my life depended on it, so I wrap my hand around Mrs. McClary’s elbow and let her lead me back up to the register. Ten minutes later, after she’s toasted muffins with cheese and fried eggs, I head back to my apartment with a box I never thought I’d have to buy again hidden in my jacket pocket.
14
Evianna
When I emerge from the bedroom, Dax has breakfast sandwiches plated on the small dining room table along with more coffee and my sparkling water. He’s staring at his phone, his Bluetooth blinking in his right ear.
“Hey. Those smell fantastic.”
“VoiceAssist, cancel,” he murmurs before he pulls the earbud out and tucks it in his pocket. “Eat. You must be hungry. Then we’ll call Wren.”
Yep. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Terse is back. But, he came with food, so I’ll forgive him—for now. Because as much as I don’t want to be a bother, I’ve subsisted on doughnuts and pizza and sub sandwiches for the past few weeks, and I’m half-starved. Also, horny as hell. But that’s obviously going to have to wait.
“Do you cook?” I ask as I sit down next to him.
“A little. Basic stuff.”
The first bite of the sandwich tastes like heaven, and a little moan escapes before I can stop it. “Oh God. This is fantastic. This is from a grocery store?”
“More like a neighborhood institution. McClarys’ Stop N’ Shop has been here for thirty years. Same owners. They do takeout containers of lasagna at night.” Dax carefully reaches for his coffee cup, his fingers gliding across the table top before he finds it.
“Can I ask you something…uh…I don’t know…overly personal?” My cheeks heat, but I want to know everything about this man, and I suspect he won’t just tell me.
With a sigh, he sits back in his chair. “I piss sitting down. That what you wanted to know?”
“No!” Though honestly, I probably would have wondered eventually. “Forget it. Despite how fantastic that kiss was, it’s clear you don’t trust me not to hurt you.” Huffing into my coffee, I take a long sip and try to stop my eyes from burning. “We can call Wren whenever you’re ready.”
Dax pushes to his feet and strides into the kitchen where he braces his hands on the counter and I think I hear him counting. When he reaches ten, he blows out a long breath and turns back to me. “I haven’t spent this much time with one person in years.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? None of your friends ever ask you questions? Like…was it hard to learn to use your cane? Or…I don’t know…why are your eyeglasses tinted? Or here’s one. Have you dated anyone recently? Though the answer to that question is clearly no because you’re spectacularly bad at conversation.”
“What do you want from me, Evianna?” Dax stalks out of the kitchen and yanks off his glasses. “My glasses are tinted because I get migraines and these help with the light sensitivity. Learning to use the cane was easy. Learning how to navigate without being able to see more than shadows? That was terrifying. Still is. And I don’t really have friends.” Dax’s hands shake as he puts his glasses on again, and a muscle in his jaw ticks. When he rubs the back of his neck, I can see the scars around his wrist as the cuff of his Henley rides up. “As for dating…I haven’t been with anyone in six years. Not since my ex-wife decided she couldn’t handle living with a blind and broken man with severe PTSD.”
Pushing back from the table, I approach slowly.“Can I touch you?”
My question must shock him, because he snaps his head up so he’s staring right at me. Or at least, it feels that way. “Why would you want to?”
“You’re serious, aren’t you?” I start with his biceps, feathering a light touch up his arms to his shoulders. “You really don’t think anyone could possibly care about you.”
Dax squeezes his eyes shut, the gesture pulling at the burn scars on his lids. “Most people who come into my life…bolt pretty damn quick.”
“Maybe that’s because you don’t let them in.” I rise up on my toes and wrap my arms around his neck, then ghost my lips over his. “And maybe I’m not like most people.”
“Evianna,” he whispers, “you are definitely not like most people.”
My breath stutters, and I take a step back. If I push him too far, he’ll shut down, and as much as I wish we could spend all day just…talking, there’s still the small matter of someone trying to kill me. “We need to call Wren. But…you should be careful, Dax. You’re going to give me the impression you care.”
Dax has me set up my laptop on the coffee table, and we sit close together on the couch while his phone reads me Wren’s number. As the call connects, I almost smile. She looks just like she sounds. This little slip of a thing, red wavy hair, and a nervous smile. “Hi. Um…boss, you okay? You look…I don’t know. Wiped.”
