Page 50 of Love Me Fierce

He gives me a curious glance. “Do you need lunch?”

“Yes, but—” I nod at the line. “Don’t have time.”

He offers me the bag and the smoothie. “Is a BLT on wheat toast okay with you?”

“I can’t take your lunch.”

“I’ll order something else.” He checks his watch. “You gotta be back in like, seven minutes, right?”

“Everett,” I say, exasperated. “You don’t?—”

“Have to? Yeah, I know.” He gives me a kind smile. “What would it be like to let me take care of you?”

I give him a stern glance. “What are you talking about?”

He smiles, reminding me of his unwavering patience. “Right now, I’m talking about lunch. We can discuss other things later.”

My stomach gives another low growl and I’m feeling a little lightheaded. Or maybe that’s the effect he has on me. Because “other things” took my thoughts straight to the gutter.

Everett offers his lunch again, and this time, I take it. “I’ll make it up to you.”

His smile brightens. “You already have.”

“Are all of you Rumseys this generous?” I take a sip of the smoothie. The first hit of strawberry with honey ignites my tastebuds and the relief that comes with satisfying my gnawing hunger hits my brain like a drug.

“Yep. Mom and Dad are professional givers. It kinda gets under your skin.”

After yesterday, this is becoming obvious. “Thank you.”

“I’ll walk you out,” he says, opening the door for me.

“I did some research on rentals if I decide to move,” I say as we follow the storefront toward my Kia. I keep my worries about affording rent tomyself.

“That’s what you were doing on your lunch hour,” he says with a thoughtful glance.

I take another sip of the smoothie. It’s so delicious I could cry. “I can’t stay at the cabin forever.”

“A few more days while you figure things out isn’t forever.”

“True.” Despite the distressing events, being with his family last night was exactly like I had pictured. Lots of laughter, plenty of yummy food, that feeling of peace and welcome. The way a family should be.

Too bad it ended with Everett’s third degree and the added friction between us. The kind that’s been making it hard for me to sleep at night.

“You sure your parents won’t mind?”

“They’d be delighted.”

“I’m not a freeloader.” I turn into the space between my car and the one next to it and reach for my keys.

“Your point is?”

“Can I do chores or something?”

“Mom will gladly accept hugs,” he says. “Dad would probably love to teach Mateo to ride.”

I groan. “How would those things be earning our keep?”

He gently takes the paper bag and smoothie from my hands so I can finish digging out my keys.

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