Page 59 of Bedroom Therapy

Chapter Eleven

Amanda woke early, feeling wonderfully refreshed and rested. A smile flickered on her lips when she remembered going to sleep in Zach’s arms. But when she turned to the far side of the bed, she found that Zach wasn’t there.

A stab of disappointment pierced her. She’d wanted to wake up next to him; she’d wanted that very much. But he’d chosen to leave.

Getting up, she pulled off the robe she was still wearing, then found some shorts and a tee shirt in the dresser that was still pushed against the bed.

Then she gazed around the room. It had looked sensual and romantic the evening before. The magic Zach had created still clung to it in the morning light. Maybe because she wanted it to.

Should she ask him to change it back? She wasn’t sure what she wanted yet.

After a stop in the bathroom, she poked her head in Zach’s room and was relieved to find his clothing still hanging in the closet. She’d been half afraid that he would clear out before they could talk. But he was still here. Somewhere.

He wasn’t in the living room or the kitchen, but he’d made a pot of coffee.

She decided to pour herself a cup, then changed her mind and hurried back down the hall where she stripped off her clothing again and took a quick shower.

He still wasn’t home by the time she’d partially dried her hair and gotten dressed again. She was pacing barefoot back and forth across the length of the living room when she saw a flicker of movement through the window.

Looking outside, she saw Zach and breathed out a little sigh.

He was speeding up the long driveway, dressed in shorts, running shoes, and a tee shirt that clung damply to his broad shoulders.

He opened the door quietly, then stopped short when he saw her standing in the living room.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi.”

“You were up early.”

“I often go for an early run,” he answered stiffly

The tone of his voice challenged her to make something of it, and she knew suddenly that she wasn’t going to. Last night, as she had lain beside him, she’d sensed that it wasn’t the right time to ask questions. As far as she could see, nothing had changed.

“I was thinking we should get some groceries,” she said. “There’s nothing in the house to eat, and I’d like to fix some breakfast.”

The mundane suggestion seemed to relax him. “Let me take a shower, and I’ll be ready to go. You can write me a list.”

She nodded, thinking of the phrase her mother used to use. Sending a man to do a woman’s job. She’d said that there were some things men simply weren’t cut out to do. And grocery shopping was one of those things. But she wasn’t going to argue with Zach until after his shower.

Fortified with a cup of his strong coffee laced with a nice shot of cream and caramel, she was waiting for him when he came back.

After pouring himself some of the coffee and taking a sip, he asked, “Where’s the list.”

“I didn’t write it.” She folded her arms across her chest. “I’m going to the store with you.”

He studied her defiant posture. “Not a good idea. You do remember that a man broke into your house and attacked you? You do remember that’s why we moved to a different location?”

She ignored the pointed reminders of why they were hiding out. Instead she said, “You took me out to dinner.”

“That was different. An out-of-the-way, upscale restaurant. A grocery store is right in the thick of things. The guy who attacked you could be hanging around public places, hoping you’ll show up.”

“Well, we can go to one that’s on the other side of town instead of the one in the shopping center down the road.” She argued, then hurried on with another detail, “You can deck me out with a disguise. That way the assailant won’t even know who I am.”

“A list would be better,” he insisted.

“I’m not good at making lists. I want to see what’s there. If the tomatoes look good, I want some. How are you at evaluating fresh produce?”

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