she walked through, saying, “I’m afraid you are.”
Which was probably the last thing he needed to hear from her.
He closed the door, locked it, bounced his keys in his palm, then tossed them to the table that sat against the wall beside the door. They hit the surface and slid, knocking one of Addy’s Frozen figurines to the floor.
He snatched it up and crossed to his daughter’s room, giving Brooklyn time to relax and leaving the toy in the basket of things Addy had to earn back. She knew the rules. Toys belonged in their place. She could play with them in the big room, but they went back to their basket at bedtime.
Harsh, maybe, but as busy as the two of them were, messes in the loft would get out of control before he knew it if he didn’t stay on top of things. And with the new house being the size it was, he couldn’t have anything out of control. He’d never catch up. He’d never rein it in.
“I can see why you needed to buy furniture,” she said, looking from the futon he still used as a sofa, and ended up crashing on too often, to the bar stools he and Addy sat on to eat. “I’m guessing you don’t throw a lot of dinner parties?”
“This was only supposed to be temporary.”
“I think there’s something to be said for the scaled-down life. It will certainly make for easy packing.”
“Maybe I should ditch everything I bought today. Just keep what I have,” he said, instead of thinking about her going through the things of her husband’s she’d lived with all this time. “I don’t want the house to be all fussy.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” she said, sounding bossy and proprietary and him liking it way too much. “All you bought were the basics, and not even all of those, really. It’s going to take a lot more than that to get close to fussy.”
She turned then, and caught him staring at her, her smile fading to something hesitant again, something that said she wasn’t sure she should be here. Something that made him want to get her to change her mind.
But he’d already had this talk with himself more than once. He wanted her here, but only if the want was a mutual thing. Right now, her vibes were all about finding the fastest way to the door. And that had him on the verge of giving up.
He headed for the kitchen where he’d left the candy he’d made her, and before offering it to her, he put the bar between them, pushing the bonbon across it. “I meant to give this to you yesterday, but getting Addy out the door turned into a mini-drama yesterday morning, then this morning you were waiting downstairs by the time I was dressed, and I forgot to grab it.”
She took it from him with a heavy sigh, picking it up and looking at it up, down, and sideways.
He finally said, “You’re welcome,” because the silence was gnawing a hole in his gut.
“Sorry. It’s beautiful. But you’ve got to stop doing this.” For a moment she looked as if she was going to eat it, then she set it back down. “You make me feel . . . guilty.”
“Guilty of what?” he asked as her gaze came up.
“Not reciprocating.”
That wasn’t what he’d expected, but he gave her extra points for honesty, and for not looking away. “You think gifts are about reciprocity?”
“No, but I still feel as if I should be doing something for you.”
Did she really not get it? How much she’d already done? “Like helping me pick out furniture? Like keeping my daughter from breaking legs at a church carnival? Can you imagine if Alva Bean had fallen hard on the gymnasium floor?”
“So this is a thank-you?”
“It’s a chocolate, Brooklyn. It’s meant to be enjoyed, not analyzed.”
“Analyzing your chocolates is one of my favorite things to do.”
Too bad she wouldn’t be here to analyze more. “Then tell me about this one.”
She took so long deciding, he thought she was going to say no, but then she bit off a third or so, savored, and finally swallowed. “I taste banana. And some sort of liqueur. Or maybe rum. Cinnamon for sure. I think all it’s missing is the ice cream.”
“There’s cream in there, too.”
“If I light a fire will it burst into flame?”
“It’s not that kind of Bananas Foster. At least not anymore. The flames got a little dicey while