I need to deal with Travis.I can’t stand the thought of him lingering in her life any longer.It’s time I set things straight with him.
Hannah looks away for a moment, her eyes flicking to the floor before meeting mine again.“I don’t feel like going out.”
A sudden pressure builds in my chest.My inner voice gets louder, sharper.You need to make sure she’s taken care of.Showing up and getting her dinner is one way of doing it.
Ignoring my inner voice, I fight it down but can’t stop the words that come out next.“I could get takeout?”
She raises an eyebrow, considering it.“Or I could cook?”
I’m relieved.At least she’s willing to share a meal, which is a step in the right direction.“Or I could help you cook?”
Her face softens, and she gives a slight nod, the tension between us easing just a little.The relief that washes over me is immediate.After the cookies, I wasn’t sure she could even cook a decent meal.And, looking at her thin frame, I’m pretty sure she could do with a hearty dinner.
I follow her into the kitchen, already feeling the pull of something deeper between us.It’s not just about the food.It’s about making sure she knows I’m here, whether she wants me here or not.
“What do you feel like?”Hannah asks, pulling open the freezer.
Peering inside, a bunch of pre-made meals in containers catch my eye.“Well prepared, huh?”
Hannah shrugs, her tone casual.“It’s just me and Grace, and I don’t always want to cook.So, I buy in bulk, cook up a bunch of meals, and freeze them.That way, there’s always something ready to eat.”
Picking up a container, I sniff it.“Chili?”
Hannah snatches it back, sniffing it herself.“How the hell did you know it was chili?”
Tapping the side of my nose, a smirk spreads across my face.“Good sense of smell.”
Her eyebrow arches, impressed, as she glances at me with a sly smile.“Well, I could reheat it if you like chili.Or cook something else?”
I pause, letting the tension hang in the air for a beat, my eyes narrowing mischievously.I lean in closer, voice low, enjoying the moment.“Do you have corn chips?”
“Duh!”Hannah laughs, the sound light and warm as if she’s known me a lifetime.“You can’t have chili without corn chips.”
I give a teasing smirk, leaning back slightly, my arms crossing as I lean against the counter.“You’d be surprised.”
Hannah’s laughter spills out again, her head tilting back slightly in amusement.“Well, not in my home.”
I watch her pull another container from the freezer, her movements confident and familiar.She slides them both into the microwave with a quiet hum, the soft whirring of the appliance the only sound between us.Wandering over to her cupboards, I open one and quickly scan the contents.Finding bowls, I pull down two and open a drawer, taking out two spoons.
As I set the silverware on the table, I catch her staring at me from the corner of my eye.Her gaze lingers, an almost curious tilt to her lips as if she’s not sure what to make of me in her space.
I turn to face her, one eyebrow raised.“What?”
She shakes her head, her lips curling into that same amused smile, but there’s something softer in her eyes now, something almost unreadable.“I’ve never had a man set the table before.”
I can’t help the half-grin that tugs at my mouth.“There’s a first for everything.”
Her eyes flicker to me, full of quiet curiosity, and she adds, “You seem to be full of those.”
I can feel the weight of her words, so I shift slightly, making sure to keep the mood light.“How so?”
She holds up a hand, counting off the points with a quick gesture.“I’ve never been towed before, never cooked cookies for a man before, had dinner with bikers...”She pauses, her fingers lingering for a moment before she looks down at the floor, her voice quieter when she continues.“And more recently, I haven’t experienced men or people in general who don’t stare at my scar.”
The air between us thickens, and I can feel the shift in her.It’s subtle, but it’s there, the way her shoulders slump slightly, her gaze dropping to the floor as if the weight of those words hangs heavily on her.Something inside me tightens.I don’t know what it is, but I want to make it go away.
I let the words hang between us for a moment, my voice steady but soft.“Maybe it’s because we see the person inside and not just the packaging.You don’t think we don’t get judged every time we roll into town?The locals know who we are, but the tourists and outsiders either cross the street or avoid eye contact.”
I can see the shift in her eyes, the way she’s processing what I’ve said.It’s rare I open up like this, but with her, something feels different.We’re both outsiders in our own way.
