not really. I was unhappy with the situation, with everything external to this, and a little bit with this. “I think I’m frustrated about a lot of things. Things that maybe don’t have to do with this.” I waved my hand at the laptop. “But also, I want to be real partners. We’re in this together, right?” I let my eyes find his, and the warmth and patience I found there took a bit of the steam out of my anger.
“Right, and I was trying to offer something to the team, to bring some value, get us started.” He was being patient and kind, and I felt like I was in the middle of some kind of mild adult tantrum.
I sighed. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Fine.”
“In my experience, when a woman says ‘fine,’ it’s like an iceberg.”
I narrowed my eyes and jutted my head forward, furrowing my brows. “What?”
“Fine is just the tip. Everything looming below that fine is so not fine it’ll sink you.”
“Well, we’re as fine as we’re going to be for now,” I said, leaning back and crossing my arms. “If you really want to get into icebergs and whatever other Titanic references you need to bring up, we can do it tomorrow. I’m grumpy and not in the mood for allusions to enormous chunks of floating sea ice.”
He tilted his head sideways, just a tad. “Bad day?”
I let my eyes slide shut, reeling the day back to my argument with Mom, who had made herself into a human doorstop and literally refused to let me out of the Tin when I told her I would be sleeping somewhere else from then on. “Lottie doesn’t like this idea at all.”
“Not shocked. My uncle was pretty pissed about it too, though he seemed to think it would be a good chance for me to kill you off, make it look like a freak construction accident, and collect the property for the Tucker clan.” He shook his head as my blood turned to ice in my veins. I hadn’t even thought of that. I narrowed my eyes, evaluating him the best I could. From what I could read on his face, he didn’t seem to be buying into that plan.
“If you did that, my evil cousins would probably come out of feud retirement.” I had two distant cousins on Mom’s side—Eunice and Esther, who were both over seventy, unmarried, and united in their hatred of the Tucker clan. But since Eunice’s fall last time they were spray painting “Tuckers are Fuckers” in the road in front of Michael’s feed and farm store, they’d declared themselves too old to carry on with tradition.
“How’s Eunice’s hip?” He actually sounded concerned. After seeing him with Mrs. Easter, I wouldn’t have been surprised to find out that he’d been kind to Aunt Eunice that day, despite her evil intentions.
“She uses a walker now,” I said, shrugging. “It was nice of you to call the ambulance.”
“Discovering old ladies who’ve fallen in the street is kind of becoming my thing,” he said, closing the laptop and smiling. “Eunice fell on top of the ‘F’ she’d just finished painting, so at first I didn’t realize exactly what the girls were up to.”
“Did you think it said ‘Tuckers are Cluckers?’” I laughed.
“Uncle Ernie was a trucker once. I figured the girls were old enough to remember that.”
“Ooh, burn. Tuckers are Truckers.” I chuckled, some of my tension falling away.
“Not everyone respects the art of long-haul transport.” He tried to look mildly offended, but the lines around the corners of his eyes gave away his amusement.
“Not everyone does,” I agreed, finding myself smiling and more relaxed than I could remember being. As soon as I realized it, however, I felt the tension tighten up my shoulders again. “Don’t suppose you have a plan for food tonight? My brain only got me as far as how to escape the Muffin Tin with Lottie physically trying to keep me inside. I didn’t even bring muffins.”
Michael smiled then, a white-toothed sparkling thing that made the chin cleft deepen and his eyes actually twinkle. My stomach did an annoying little flip, and I realized suddenly that living here with Michael could be dangerous. Distracting. He was very good looking, and that smile was practically a weapon. “I brought a tray of enchiladas I made yesterday.”
“You cook?” I couldn’t keep the admiration from my voice. Dammit, Addie. He doesn’t need to know you’re impressed. You’re supposed to hate him, remember?