Page 159 of Steamy Ever After

“Wow.”

“Delicious, right?”

She cut off another—bigger—bite and he smiled, pleased she liked it.

He wasn’t sure about stopping by unannounced, especially after the way she talked to him at the cemetery, but the more he thought about it, the more he believed she didn’t want to make too much out of their little get together the other night.

The moment he left the motel to get his car, he regretted the way they ended things. But when he got back, she was already gone. He thought of going to her house, but then he learned the news about her dad passing and he didn’t want to intrude.

“The funeral was nice,” he said, and she stilled.

Maybe that was a dumb thing to say. Christ, she just buried her only parent. There was nothing nice about that.

“Sorry. I never know what to say in situations like this.”

Setting down her fork with a gentle click, her fingers noticeably trembled. “It was nice. I’m glad we had it.”

“Harrison looks like he’s doing well for himself.”

Her expression hardened. “We had a fight. He left.”

“Oh. You okay?”

She nodded. “Family stuff.”

“I can’t imagine how overwhelming this must be for you.”

Her eyes lifted, a look of awe taking over her face. “That’s exactly what it is. I’ve been sitting here for days trying to figure out how I feel and I couldn’t think of the right word. I’m overwhelmed.”

“Well, that’s normal.” He captured her hand and squeezed it gently.

Frowning at his touch, she looked back at him. “Why are you here?”

He didn’t let go. “I was thinking about you.”

“What were you thinking?”

He’d been wondering if she was as okay as she claimed. He worried she might be sad or crying, alone in this house with no one to take her mind off things. He’d been thinking how shitty he felt about the way things ended. “That I missed you.”

She pulled her hand out of his and tucked it on her lap, drawing some conclusion at his statement.

Carrying her plate to the sink, she covered the leftovers with foil. She looked at him expectantly, but he didn’t have a clue what she expected of him.

“Do you want to come to my room?”

He frowned, confused. “Sure?”

Leaving his plate next to hers, she led him down a narrow hall. Her bedroom was at the end. Simple furniture with very little clutter. A house plant hung in the corner with green leaves in a long vine that wound across the curtain rod and reached the mirror above her dresser.

“Is that plant real?”

She shut the door. “Yes. I’ve had it since high school.”

Feeling closed in, he moved to the far corner of the wall and looked at the picture in the frame. “Where’s this?”

“I don’t know. I cut it out of a magazine.”

The photograph was of a desert cliff. He set it back on her dresser and turned. She stared at him, still in her funeral clothes, looking small and fragile.

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