“So you’re always planning for a disaster, then.”
“Always,” he replies with a subtle grin, not looking even remotely tired of trailing me through the stores that catch my attention. He already has a few bags he’s been hauling around.
At one point, I catch our reflections in a full-length mirror while he stands close behind me, leaning in close while he murmurs something about the fabric. It throws me immediately, and I don’t even register what he’s saying.
For a moment, I’m seeing us from a different perspective, and we look suspiciously real. Like this isn’t some kind of temporary ruse.
Almost like this is nothing out of the ordinary for us.
Startled, I step away, breaking the moment while I pretend to care about a sweater up ahead.
I’m sure he notices, but Wyatt doesn’t say anything.
Nothing about this should feel intimate, but it does, and that scares the shit out of me.
Eventually, we leave the last store with several bags in hand, heading through the parking garage. I’m glancing around, trying to remember where the car is, when Wyatt slows.
At first, I assume he’s taking issue with a man sitting against the wall near the entrance, bundled in many layers that likely don’t fight the chill from the concrete with a cardboard sign propped up beside him. The cup ahead of him looks mostly empty.
“Wait,” Wyatt murmurs to me, making me stop in my tracks.
Turning back around with my brows furrowed, I watch as Wyatt sets the bags down, then digs into his wallet before approaching the man. He slips the folded bills into the cup, murmuring something I can’t hear.
The man looks surprised, but his eyes light up when he notices, and he nods gratefully.
Then, without any kind of ceremony, Wyatt straightens and keeps walking like nothing happened. With the bags in hand again, he sidles in next to me.
I don’t know why, but that simple gesture strikes me, and I can’t find the words to say until we’re loading everything into the car. Finally, my thoughts stop tripping over themselves.
“How much did you give him?”
I have no right to ask, and I know that, but my curiosity has gotten the best of me.
Wyatt closes the rear door before getting into the driver’s seat. “Enough to get him something nice to eat. A comfortable room for a night or two if he wants.”
I blink back at him once I’m settled in my seat, so close to gawking at him. “Do you know the number of people who would’ve just walked by him today?”
“Likely too many to be considered fair.”
Keeping my eyes on him, I watch his every movement. “And you do that often?”
“Often enough,” he murmurs as he starts the engine.
I can’t tell if he’s toying with me, or if this really isn’t out of the norm for him. I can’t help but press.
He starts to pull out when I break through a beat of silence. “Why?”
Wyatt glances at me, then back at the road. “Why not?”
“That’s a lame answer.”
“Maybe it’s the one I want to give you.”
With a dissatisfied breath, I let it go for a few blocks, trying to ignore the repeating memory in my head. But the question keeps poking at me to the point of near desperation to know the truth of it.
But the longer I sit with it, the more a small thought grows.
“Most people don’t bother unless they empathize,” I murmur, almost more to myself. Then I glance at him while the realization sets in. “You weren’t always…comfortable, were you?”
