Page 57 of Storm

“Yes,” I say simply, challenging him. I’m well aware that I’m going to need to slow down a bit, but I refuse to sacrifice my Sundays for anyone.

I can see the muscle in his jaw jumping as he clenches his jaw. I twist my lips to hold back my smile, polishing off the rest of my milk before rinsing the glass in the sink.

“I’m going to hop in the shower and get ready. You’re welcome to finish your toast before you head out.” Walking away, I call out louder, “Lock the door when you leave, please!”

Just in case, I grab my clothes from my bedroom before slipping into the bathroom. Not wanting to be faced with anymore “talk” this morning, I take my time shampooing my hair and even shave my legs. After I finish, I stand in front of my sink and blow dry my hair, then put on minimal makeup and lotion.

It’s probably been well over half an hour by this point, so I dress and stroll from the small, humid space only to find Kevin busy hand washing the dishes in my sink.

“You’re still here,” I say, dumbfounded.

“It’s Sunday. Why are you working?” he counters, slapping his hand on my faucet to shut off the water. Turning to me, he crosses his arms.

“Still. Here.” My words are clipped.

I immediately start walking backwards as he comes toward me. I keep going until my back hits a wall and my neck is craning almost painfully to keep him in my line of vision. “If you’re working today, why aren’t you wearing scrubs or whatever uniform you wear for your job?”

“Darlene.” My answer comes out breathless, overwhelmed by how close his body is to mine. He flattens the palms of his hands to the wall on either side of my head and he leans forward, bringing his lips so close to my forehead, I can feel the warmth of his breath.

“Who’s Darlene?” he whispers, running his eyes over my hair, then over my face before locking onto mine. “I only came over here to feed you.”

My mouth opens and shuts, unsure what part I’m supposed to respond to. I jolt, then push him away when my alarm sounds on my phone. Rushing to grab it, I silence the blaring ship horn, refocusing on what’s important right now.

“Darlene is an elderly woman I help out every Sunday. I do errands, clean, and spend time visiting with her. Her familyhired our company last year but couldn’t afford to keep regular care. All of her children take turns during the week and each spend a day with her, but they managed to all pitch in so I can help on Sundays.”

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he seems unsure about what just happened. “Miriam, I’m?—”

“I really need to get going, Kevin. She expects me by nine.” I’m bouncing my balled fists against my thigh, doing everything I can tonotthink about the fact thatel capitánwas about to make out with me, alone, in my apartment. My eyes stray to my room.Only ten feet from my worn out mattress.

I sigh, then blush when I catch him staring at me. “Let me drive you. We can swing through a diner and pick up something for you to eat when you think you can stomach it. Did you take your meds?”

Wrinkling my nose, I don’t answer as I march back to my bathroom and grab my new prescription from the cabinet. Popping the pill in my mouth, I lean my face under the faucet and sip water to swallow it down.

Marching back out, I grab my bag and shove my phone inside. “Taken. I don’t mind taking the bus. It drops off one block from her place.”

Pulling out his keys, he opens the door and holds out a hand. “I’d rather not argue. Let’s get you there and I’ll leave you alone for the remainder of the day. Deal?”

Biting my lip, I let him guide me into the hallway, but I stop briefly to point a finger in his face. “You’re not the boss of me,Capitán.”

Dropping his face quickly, he brushes his lips against mine. “Yet,” he murmurs, then presses his mouth to mine more firmly.

I barely have time to register before he’s pulling away and striding to the stairwell. It takes me a few seconds before I’mchasing after him and wordlessly climbing into his passenger seat.

CHAPTER 27

EZRA

“Do you need help finding anything?”

Without taking my eyes from the tiny nail care set, I ask, “Are these actually safe for babies? How old do they have to be before they’re able to use this shit themselves? I’m concerned because they’re so sharp.”

I narrow my eyes to read the warning label on the side, then realize the employee who approached me hasn’t answered. Lifting my head, I find a kid who doesn’t look older than sixteen with his mouth hanging open.

When he notices me watching him, he snaps his mouth shut. “Uh, I don’t think they ever use that themselves. Not until they’re likewayolder. It’s for the parents.”

Humming to myself, I refocus on the package. “Do their nails really need regular trimming?”

“I dunno. Probably.”

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