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She stared at me. I held my ground. Finally, she threw her hands into the air. “What is wrong with you?”
“Currently? Nothing.”
Her eyes flashed and I bit back a laugh. Her hand found her hip again. The warning in her voice deepened. She took two steps toward me and pointed toward the front door.
“You are leaving.”
She moved to block me, but I stepped around her and picked up my duffel bag. For one brief moment, triumph lit her face. I stepped deeper into the living room and dropped the bag beside the couch. The sound that came out of her was somewhere between a groan and a growl. I bit back a smirk.
“I hate you.”
The lie lay between us. Her fingers twisted together before disappearing beneath crossed arms. Her gaze snagged on the bruise reflected in the hallway mirror. She looked ready to collapse in exhaustion.
“You don’t.”
Something vulnerable flickered across her face before she immediately buried it, and the room suddenly felt smaller and quieter. I took a slow step closer.
“I am sleeping on the couch,” I said. “You are going to bed. If your grandfather needs help during the night, I’ll handle it.”
Her throat moved as she swallowed. The stubborn refusal was still there in her eyes, but it was beginning to lose ground to fatigue.
“I can take care of him,” she protested.
“I know you can.”
Somewhere down the hall, the refrigerator hummed. She held my gaze, waiting.
“Then why are you here?” The question came out softer than everything else.
Because I love— The words slammed into the back of my teeth. Not yet.
A strand of hair had escaped her ponytail. My fingers moved before my brain approved the decision. The silk of it slid across my knuckles. She went perfectly still as I brushed the loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her breath caught. Mine nearly did too. My thumb lingered against her temple for half a heartbeat.
“Because somebody should be taking care of you for a change.”
She just looked at me. Those blue eyes that I saw in my dreams held mine for one long second before she stepped back and shook her head. Her shoulders sagged first. She scrubbed both hands over her face.
“Fine. You’re sleeping on the couch.”
The knot between my shoulder blades loosened for the first time since pulling into the driveway.
“I know.”
“And if you snore, I'm throwing you out.”
A laugh escaped me. “There she is.”
The corner of her mouth twitched before she caught it. She pointed toward the hallway.
“Bathroom is the second door on the left.”
“Thanks, California.”
“Push your luck, and you’ll be sleeping on the porch.”
She disappeared down the hallway, and despite the threat, I found myself grinning like a fool. The duffel still sat beside the couch where I’d dropped it. She could’ve dragged it back to the porch. Instead, she’d shown me where the bathroom was. Tonight, that was enough.
Thirty-Seven
