Page 127 of Sharing Shane

“Hi,” she chirped and stepping over the threshold, rose on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Whew, that drive over. Traffic is murder this time of day, isn’t it?”

He watched, nonplused, as she brushed past him. “Veronica? What’re you doing here?”

“I brought dinner,” she said and lifted the bags in her hands. He recognized the logo before she said, “Mama Luke’s.”

“I see that.” He followed her into his kitchen. “Why did you bring Mama Luke’s?”

“You were so tired when I talked to you this morning, I thought you’d appreciate not having to cook,” she said, plunking the bags on the counter. She peeled back the Velcro flap on the insulated hot bag, wincing as steam came pouring out. “Shit, that’s hot. Where’s a—oh, there it is.”

She snagged the dishtowel from the counter and, using it as an oven mitt, slid out a foil-wrapped calzone. “I’m just going to put this in the oven on warm until you’re ready to eat, okay?”

“Did you forget that we switched nights?”

She was pulling a foil-topped container of the bag, the escaping steam making her face pink. “What?”

He waited until she’d put the container next to the calzone and turned the oven on low before repeating himself. “I said, did you forget that we switched nights.”

“Oh.” She laughed, shoving her hair out of her face. She was sweating a bit, her hair damp at the edges and clinging to her face. She was so pretty, flushed and smiling and wearing a tank top thin enough for him to see how the air conditioning had caused her nipples to pucker, and he almost reached for her before he remembered she wasn’t supposed to be here.

“No, I didn’t forget,” she said, moving on to the paper sack on the counter. Another foil tray came out, then a six-pack of Mountain Dew. “But after I talked to Wyatt this afternoon?—”

“You talked to Wyatt?”

“Yeah.” She pulled a stack of napkins out of the sack, set them aside, then began opening cabinets. “He called me when he couldn’t reach you.”

He watched her pull down plates and glasses, dig silverware out of the drawer. “I was asleep.”

“I know.” She carried everything to his small dining table with a smile. “I told him you’d sounded beat when I talked to you, so you probably didn’t hear it.”

She was laying out place settings, plates and glasses, knives and forks. She came back for the foil tray on the counter, then paused. “Are you hungry now, or are you going to wait to eat?”

“I’m hungry now,” he replied. “But I don’t understand what’s going on.”

“I told Wyatt you probably weren’t going to be up for going out,” she explained. She peeled back the lid on the foil tray, revealing a large Caesar salad. “I think I’ll just leave this in the container. No sense dirtying up another dish.”

“Veronica, stop.”

Her head came up, surprise in her hazel eyes, and he took a deep breath. His temper was beginning to simmer, and he knew if he didn’t watch himself, it would boil over. “You told Wyatt I wasn’t going to be up for our date tonight?”

She blinked. “Well, after we talked, I thought?—”

“You had no right to do that.”

“What?”

“You had no right to do that,” he repeated, his voice getting sharper as his temper grew. “Veronica, Wyatt is my partner.”

“I know that,” she began, and though her voice was normal, her eyes had gone wide with shock.

“Do you?” He asked and waved a hand at the kitchen. “Because you’re not showing a lot of respect for that relationship.”

“Shane, I only wanted?—”

“That’s right, you wanted,” he said. “You wanted to come over, bring dinner, see me, and to hell with the plans I already had, is that it?”

“Of course not.”

“How many times have I told you how important it is for me to keep clear boundaries?” he demanded. “How many times have I told you, that’s the only way this works? Boundaries, communication, respect.”

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