She only stared. The pen had ceased its tapping. Her guarded expression remained unchanged.
Nerves beat wings around his stomach. He lowered the bag. “Or, Tony did this morning. Now you get to reap the benefits.”
She glanced from him to the greasy bag and back. Finally, she leaned back in her chair, setting the pen down on top of the papers. “I’ll take it.”
He almost bounded across the space to her desk, setting the bag down on the edge. “I grabbed extra Whoa Daddy sauce for you.”
“Thank you,” she said quietly, watching him unroll the bag and take out the Styrofoam-encased offerings. It wasn’t until he tugged a bottle of Diet Coke from his jacket pocket, though, that a smile touched the corners of her mouth.
He set it down amid the impromptu feast. “I’ve got napkins here,” he said, pulling them out of his other pocket.
“Nick.”
“Did I forget anything?” he asked, studying the tableau carefully to be sure she wouldn’t need anything else.
“Nick,” she said again.
He met her gaze. She’d taken off her glasses. They dangled from one hand, much like his chances. He pulled in a bracing breath. “Yeah?”
“Sit down,” she invited. “Eat with me. There’s enough for both of us.”
He stuffed his hands into his pockets and shook his head. “Nah. I’m good. They fed me at River House this morning.”
She hesitated, then tugged one of the Styrofoam takeout containers closer to her. “How’s your mom?”
“She’s walking now that the weather’s warmer, just around the park. Mr. Kincaid and an attendant go with her once a day.”
“Heissweet on her.”
“I’m not sure she’s noticed,” Nick considered. He wasn’t sure how much his mother was aware of. She’d seemed frazzled this morning, convinced that she’d lost her purse.
She’d stopped keeping a purse when she’d moved into River House and Nick took over her financials.
Worst of all, she’d asked for her pills. Nick had checked with Ms. Porter to be sure his mother had received her medication that morning. She had, which meant she’d either forgotten or she’d been looking for the prescription pain meds she’d become dependent on after his father’s death.
It had broken Nick’s heart a little more, watching her search for something that wasn’t there.
“You don’t have to go,” she murmured, dripping Whoa Daddy sauce on her wings from a spoon.
He frowned. “Sure about that?”
She nodded slowly. “Stay.”
He drew up a seat. For a while, he just watched her eat with his elbows braced on his knees and his hands laced between them.
She’d skipped breakfast. He could tell by the way she scarfed. Soon, there was little left but bones, a quarter cup of coleslaw and some balled-up napkins. She downed the Diet Coke and wiped her face. “I guess we need to talk about the other night, huh?” she asked finally.
“If you’re up to it,” he replied.
She closed the Styrofoam containers one by one. “I don’t like not speaking to you.”
“I don’t like it, either,” he admitted.
“I need you, Nick,” she said, her gaze colliding with his. She looked a little tired, as if she hadn’t slept any more than he had over the last few days.
“I need you, too,” he asserted.
At once, they both said, “I’m sorry.”
