I found this hard to believe, though I did have to take a breath so perhaps he’d escaped when I did that.
“Still,” I said quietly.
“I didn’t drive to Wyoming, Cassidy,” he pointed out.
“I didn’t know where you went.” My voice dipped lower. “And I’ll point out, I phoned and you didn’t answer again.”
His reply to that was “Phone’s on the nightstand.”
I blinked.
Who left their phone on the nightstand?
He went on, “Don’t need one when I’m with you.”
There was a lot there, including the clashing feelings of being happy he was again demonstrating he was with me as in with me and wanted that without any distractions and the disturbed feeling that this might mean he didn’t have anyone to talk to, not that he didn’t want to talk to anyone.
I didn’t get into that. I stuck with the matter at hand.
“You do when you take off in a store that’s as big as three warehouses and I don’t know where you are.”
His head tipped slightly to the side and his brows drew slightly together before he asked, “Are we havin’ this conversation?”
In other words, this conversation was a conversation he felt was ridiculous.
I didn’t agree.
I lifted my hands and dropped them, saying, “Deacon, you took off and I didn’t know where you went.”
“Did it occur to you that I’d be back?” he returned.
“Not really,” I shot back, and I knew he got me because suddenly his face changed.
“Cassie,” he said softly.
“Okay,” I said briskly in order to cover the vulnerability I’d just exposed. “I’m the woman in your life, not your mother, so I’ll say this won’t happen often. But right now, it’s gonna happen.”
The softness in his expression changed, his lips twitched, and I wasn’t real fond of that (well, I was, just not right then) but I carried on anyway.
“It’s sweet, you drove hell bent to get to me but don’t ever do that again. You need to sleep and eat,” I bossed and kept going so he wouldn’t say anything that might tip my precarious mood, something I knew could happen because his lips were still twitching and now his eyes were dancing. “Second, if we’re at a store—a gigantic one, an average one, a fruit stand on the side of the road—you don’t take off without telling me where you’re going.”
“A fruit stand?” he asked and there it was. That sound I liked so much. The thread of humor reverberating in his tone.
“Don’t tease me when I’m borderline pissed.”
“Thank fuck it’s only borderline,” he muttered, still teasing.
“Just saying, I go back to my trolley and one single pansy I selected has been taken by another customer, borderline will be a memory.”
“Can you do that without me at your side so I can get a ladder?”
I knew he was still teasing, I could tell by the glint in his eye that made him almost cute, if that could be believed.
I still didn’t like it (well, I did, just not right then).
“Are you gonna shove a woman who spent three weeks thinking that we were finished, and not liking it much, over the edge in a home improvement store?” I demanded to know, slamming my hands on my hips.
Half a second later, my hands were not on my hips. They were on Deacon’s flat abs because he moved, leaning in to me, hooking me at the back of my head, and yanking me into him so I had to throw my hands out to brace against impact.