Page 35 of Cruz

“Asshole,” I hiss, finally cluing into the fact that he saw the whole thing on the cameras in real time. “You could have called out. What if I’d beaned you with it?”

“You didn’t have that look. You were cautious. You were going to assess the situation first instead of charging in blindly. Anyway. I don’t think it’s an impossible ask to try.”

My heart picks up, skittering like it did when I thought there was someone else in here. Cruz shifts from one sentence to the other with impossible ease. “Good to know.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I, but I don’t know what to do with it.”

“Nothing. As you said.”

“Are you mocking me?”

“I’m not.”

I try my best to give good glare, but it’s hard, with a man like Cruz. “You might be the strangest person I’ve ever met.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“Probably one of the highest I’ve ever paid.”

“Are you mocking me?”

“I’m not.” I parrot his tone, since he parroted mine. “Are we going to keep being sort of weird around each other?”

Cruz snorts and his eyes flash, sparks igniting in their depths. “I’ve never enjoyed myself more. You have an interesting coffee shop. I like your clients. For the most part.”

I’m at a loss, trying to follow his logic. “That’s the only interesting part?”

“You know it’s not. You know that you’re a beautiful, smart, intriguing woman.”

“Yes.” I don’t break eye contact even though my face is so hot that I have to will away the heat. “Sort of. I’ve worked hard to get there, both in how I think about myself and in how I’d like to think about myself and in making that a reality.”

“There’s nothing more attractive than intelligence.”

I draw a circle on my thigh, picking at the fuzzy fabric. “I would say hard work and knowledge are different from intelligence.”

“Maybe.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to bring you flowers and write you poetry?”

It’s my turn to huff in sheer amusement. “No, but I’d be willing to accept a ten-foot live cactus, a published book of poetry, and a granny square knitted blanket that you made yourself.”

“Can it be crocheted?”

“What?” All of that was just me being silly.

“The blanket.”

“I don’t know.” I do know that it’s time to get off the couch before I say anything more insane. “I was just being ridiculous. I don’t need any of that.” I stand, but can’t seem to make my legs take me to my room.

Cruz is a good guy. Know how I know? He gives all that middle of the night gibberish real consideration. He winks at me. “If the book of poetry can be self-published, it’s not that hard to do. I did pull that haiku out of my ass.”

“And what a lovely ass haiku it was.” Fuck, I need to shut up before it’s any more apparent that Cruz’s weird matches my weird all too well.

I break free of whatever hold the floor has on my feet and turn around. “I’m going to wake Liam up to take his shift so you can try to rest.” I’m not taking no for an answer. If he’s not going to look after himself willingly, I’ll force him to do it. That includes snatching up the bag of peas and exchanging them for the larger, heftier bag of frozen corn. “I see that I’m going to have to invest in some real ice packs.” He gives me one of those signature noncommittal grunts.

It’s not until I’m halfway to Liam’s room that the implications of that statement hits.