“I don’t know.”
“What did you last eat?” I open the fridge. It’s empty, except for a partial bar of dark chocolate, a jar of mustard and three more bottles of that green sports drink.
“A snack bag of Doritos. There’s a vending machine in the warehouse.”
“Why don’t you have any groceries?”
“I was too busy dying to go shopping. Will you save yourself now?”
“I’ll go, but I’ll be back.” I stop in the doorway. “Do you actually live here, or is it just a place to crash sometimes?”
“I live here.”
“How would I know?” Really, we’ve rented places that felt more like home. He must have been here for years but it looks like he arrived ten minutes ago.
Mike shrugs. “I like the commute.” For some reason, he’s chosen not to make it a home, and he doesn’t like me asking about it. I see that, but don’t understand it. He frowns. “Why are you even here?”
“Sierra was worried about you. She said you promised to give her an update on the greenhouse and when you didn’tcome to the café or call, she was convinced you were bleeding to death in a ditch.”
“Just fighting off the four horses of the Apocalypse.” He’s gripping the edge of the counter, still looking like junk but his gaze is clinging to mine, as if he’s glad I’m here.
I’m glad I’m here.
I want to stay and take care of him.
I hate that there’s no one else to do it, but that’s not the whole reason.
I can’t even think the whole reason, but I will take care of him.
“You remind me of that meme,” I say and he raises a brow.
“Which one?”
I make air quotes with my fingers. “Everyone needs a grilled cheese sandwich cut on the diagonal and a forehead kiss once in a while.”
He smiles crookedly and our gazes lock again. “I guess everyone does,” he murmurs. “Go, Sylvia. I’ll be fine.”
“You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
“I’m not?”
“Given your grocery situation, you have no way to make your own grilled cheese sandwich.”
His eyes glint. “I was looking forward to the forehead kiss.”
“Go have a shower while I’m gone.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “Are you bossing me around? You’re small enough that I could toss you over my shoulder and carry you off.”
The truth is that I like when he sweeps me off my feet and carries me around, but I don’t say so. Not now. “I’m taking care of you, because it doesn’t look like anybody else has.”
“Who would do that?”
“Candace.”
He laughs and I have to admit that it is implausible.
“Your siblings, or staff.”
