What If You & Me (Say Everything #2) - Roni Loren Page 0,14
No fish-jerky mishaps.”
“I’ve never met a brownie I didn’t like,” he said, “but you didn’t have to do that.”
“I kind of did.” She dipped her head, her bangs falling into her eyes before she looked up again. “I said the wrong thing. We’re going to be neighbors, and I feel like we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot.” A look of horror flashed across her face. “I mean—”
He didn’t get why her expression had turned to one of horror, and then it registered. She’d said wrong foot to a guy with a prosthesis. He stared at her for a second and then a snort-laugh escaped him. “Did you really just say that?”
She put a hand over her eyes and groaned. “Oh my God, I’m the worst. I feel like every time I talk to you, I do or say the wrong thing. I almost maced you the first night. Then I insult you this morning. Now this.”
He smiled, endeared by her obvious embarrassment. “You didn’t almost mace me. You never would’ve gotten that canister lifted before I had your arm pinned behind your back.”
Her head snapped up, her eyes wide, and she glanced toward the open door.
The spark of fear on her face caught him off guard, and he automatically set the brownies aside and lifted his palms. “Whoa, I didn’t mean I would do that. I’m only saying, I used to teach self-defense at the community center, and my training would’ve kicked in if you’d aimed a weapon at me.”
“Right.” She nodded, her hands clasped in her lap. “Sorry. You know I write horror. My mind goes to dark places first. It’s a career hazard.”
He frowned. “No, I get it. That’s smart. It never hurts to be aware.”
She scoffed. “I don’t know if that’s entirely true. Anything done to the extreme, even being aware, can backfire.”
Something in the way she said it made him want to ask more questions. There was a story there, and part of him wanted to prod, but he also sensed she’d shut down if he did. Like she said, he was still a stranger. “And you didn’t need to bring me brownies. I’m the one who should be bringing you a peace offering. I’m sorry I snapped at you. You were trying to be nice. I was an asshole. So I definitely don’t deserve baked goods.”
“I shouldn’t have assumed you couldn’t do your own gardening,” she said, her blue eyes meeting his. “I don’t like when people assume things about me.”
He sighed and glanced out the front window toward the yard. “Honestly, your assumption wasn’t far off. It would be a pain in the ass to get on the ground and garden, but I’m not looking for help.”
She rolled her lips together and nodded. “Got it.”
“I’m not giving the brownies back, though.” He put his hand on the platter. “They’re mine now, and you can’t have them.”
She laughed, and the sound ran straight down his spine, warming his bones. “No worries. I made some for myself, too.” She glanced at his cookbooks again. “So, if you aren’t with the fire department anymore, do you do a different job now?”
The question instantly splashed cold water on his mood. The thought of telling this sexy, vibrant woman that he was retired and on a disability pension and couldn’t seem to get himself to do anything useful made his stomach turn. He’d grown up with a dad who’d sat at home, zoned out on pills or booze, who claimed a shoulder injury prevented him from working even though it hadn’t prevented him from taking swings at his mom on a regular basis.
Hill knew his own injury had been very real, and the disability pension necessary, but at thirty-one, he hadn’t planned on that being the end of his working life. He couldn’t be a firefighter, but he was capable of other things—theoretically. But he’d made no headway on making something new happen. The fact that he was still without a job or a purpose two years in because of this fucking depression was his worst nightmare coming home to roost. He missed the pride of being able to tell someone he was a firefighter. He missed feeling like he was doing some good in the world. He missed cooking for his crew and feeling useful. But in this moment, what he missed most was the way women used to look at him like he was a possibility.
He shifted on the couch. “I own a couple of properties