I’d beensocertain she’d be gone. I’d believed it with such certainty that I’d been constructing it as a reality hour by hourwhile I worked, building it up like a wall so that by the time I got home I’d be ready for the haunting silence that follows a woman like Mallory Carpenter out the door.
But she was still here.
I didn’t know what to do with that, so I cut the engine and got out, taking the steps two at a time.
The aroma of a pot roast, rich and savory, greeted me the second I opened the front door.
Then Mallory appeared from the kitchen.
She was wearing one of my flannels. It was hanging unbuttoned, and every inch of her gorgeousness was right there in front of me.
She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen in my life, and it made my chest hurt so bad I almost couldn’t stand it.
“You’re back,” she said, leaning against the kitchen doorframe with one bare foot crossed over the other. “Dinner’s ready if you want it.”
I grunted and pulled off my boots.
She moved to the counter and handled the roast as if she’d been cooking in my kitchen for years, cutting generous slices and loading up a plate for me with potatoes on the side.
The flannel shifted every time she moved. I watched the side of her breast appear and disappear as she reached for the serving spoon, and on any other night that would have had me out of my chair and across the kitchen in about four seconds flat.
Tonight it just felt like the universe being deliberately unkind.
“I wasn’t sure you’d still be here,” I rumbled.
“Do you want me to leave?” Mallory dug into her roast.
“No.”
“That’s a start.”
Yeah, I was being an ass, wasn’t I? Mallory didn’t deserve my bad mood. It was just so damn hard to think about losing her. I knew I was shutting her out beforeshecould.
But I still had tonight with her. And however many days before she packed up and moved on. I wasn’t helping to sway her decision in my favor, acting like a grumbly mountain bear.
I should be wooing her. Flowers and shit. Declarations of love.
Maybe even asking her to stay. That might help.
But I couldn’t get myself into that state of mind right now. I was too busy feeling the grit of loss scrape across my heart. It was ragged and bloody at this point.
“It’s a good house,” she said softly.
“Yup.”
She looked down at her plate, a tiny frown on her lips.
We ate the rest of the meal in silence, my eyes watching the candle flame flicker on my old kitchen table. She’d rummaged around and found it somewhere, along with a tablecloth and the good china my mom had insisted I took when my grandmother passed away.
And all I could think about was that Mallory made a kick-ass pot roast, and how cruel it was that she could make this place feel like a home in the space of a single afternoon.
When the plates were empty, I planted my hands on the table and looked at her directly.
“Is this a farewell dinner?”
“Do you want it to be?” She met my eyes without flinching.
“I’m asking you a question.”
