Then he immediately berated himself for asking such a stupid question when she was clearly not okay. Probably lactose intolerant and here he was serving up fried cheese right in front of her.
Still, she nodded. “I’m fine. Sorry. It’s stupid.”
“You’re fine?” he asked, still kneeling in front of her.
“Uh-huh.” She continued nodding.
“Is this one of those little untruths that doesn’t hurt anyone?” he asked, placing his hands on hers.
Perhaps if he kept this light she’d smile.
She did. “I just… it’s just…”
“We can go somewhere else,” Tanner suggested, still himself. And not tripping on his tongue. He’d need to evaluate that later.
For now, they didn’t need to stick around for Mach and the rest of the band. That could wait for another day.
“It’s not a big deal,” Sam assured, still nodding her head as though attempting to convince herself.
“Seems like it might be a medium deal?” he suggested, gently. “And you said you’re done with people today, so I know another place without all the distraction of cheese and the band. It’s cool. I don’t mind.”
He started to stand, but she reached to his wrist and stopped him. He liked that—
the touching without hesitation.
“Do you want me to meet them?” she asked, her complexion going back to her normal shade.
He nodded. Fuck, yeah, he did. He wanted her to stay right there, meet them, get to see how epic the crew was, so she’d see there was more to stick around for than only Tanner. Once she met them, she’d want to stick around.
“Okay.” She took a breath and squeezed his hand. She eyed the cheesy tray with definite aversion.
“I can fix you something else?” he suggested.
She slid her gaze to the trays of food. “This is fine.”
“It’s not exactly gourmet,” he said, waggling his eyebrows. For the record, Linx would never do that. Not in a million years. Linx was entirely too slick to do anything with his eyebrows.
She laughed at his antics, a small sound that seemed to mean a whole lot.
“What’s not to love about a good mozzarella stick?” She said it, sure, but she also flinched a little.
Nah, that was only him reading too far into things again.
“You’d rather have a sandwich?” he asked. “Something not deep fried then reheated?”
That got him a full laugh. He wanted to hear it again. Hear her laugh because he’d said something funny.
“A sandwich would be great,” she said. “I can make it. Order it. Whatever.”
“Two things I can handle in the kitchen? Reheating shit and making a sammich.” He started toward the fridge. “You good with white bread?”
She nodded.
“Sam wants a sammich,” he sang. Again, not something Linx would do and still Tanner’s tongue worked just fine.
The mood from whatever had happened before definitely lightened up and Sam returned to sunshiney and bright.
He pulled the fixings from the fridge and continued with a little ditty about Sam and her sammich, adding percussion with a couple of butter knives. Even imitating a drum solo. She hummed along, but didn’t sing.
