Page 59 of From Ice to Home
“A key would be great, Luke…” She narrows her eyes slightly. “But I have a car, you know. I was kind of thinking more along the lines of having my brother or someone drive it up?”
“Can you really even call that a car, though?” I raise an eyebrow just thinking about her little blue Honda. I might be holding a tiny grudge against the vehicle, since I had to look at her drive away from me in it. But even back then, it didn’t look too reliable.
Her mouth falls open. “Okay, that’s not nice. And yes you can call it a car.” She sighs, clearly trying to stay patient. “Thisis something I’d like to handle myself. It’s my car, and I’m fine with it. I just need to make a few arrangements to get it here.”
I shake my head, wondering how her sense of independence has somehow intensified over the years.
“Sanders, I know you love that blue car, but this is something I want to do for you. It’s something Icando for you. That way you don’t have to worry about getting anywhere…and I don’t have to worry about you getting stuck without oil or a busted radiator.”
She gives me a long look, her green eyes flashing with determination as her fork hovers over her plate.
“Lucas, I’ve been with that car for the past five years. Yes, there have been difficult days, but we have an understanding with one another.”
“Sanders,” I say, leaning forward and lowering my voice. “I have no doubt that your Honda did everything you needed it to, but I want to do this for you. Let me.”
Her lips press together as she considers, and I add softly, “It’ll give me peace of mind.”
She exhales, sitting back in her chair. “I’ll think about it.”
I smirk. “I think I read somewhere that when a woman says, ‘I’ll think about it,’ the answer is usually no.”
She gives me a small smile before taking another bite of her food, leaving me to figure out if that’s true or not. The silence stretches between us, heavy enough to make me question if I’ve said the wrong thing—or if I’m just overthinking.
“I just want you to feel at home, Sanders.” She’s always managed to make me feel like I’m home by just being near me. And tonight, coming home to her and everything she did with dinner…I want her to feel the same with me. I’m supposed to provide her with comfort and security and anything she might need.
Her gaze drops to her plate and her shoulders stiffen. Iknow I’ve hit a nerve when she looks up, her green eyes flashing with hurt.
“I get that,” she says, her voice sharp despite the look in her eyes. “But you buying me a new car won’t fix this feeling that we’re navigating a minefield here, Lucas.”
I study her, trying to piece together what’s really going on. This isn’t the calm, composed side of Hannah. No, this is fiery Sanders—the side of her that won’t hold back when she’s faced with a problem. And as much as I love her passion, I know there’s a reason behind it, a reason she’s in fight mode.
Which makes me want to fix it.
“Okay.” I nod, getting up and walking to the fridge to get each of us a bottle of water before sitting back down again. “Hit me with the first landmine, Sanders.”
She shakes her head, and I get the feeling she thinks I’m not taking this seriously.
“I’m serious,” I tell her. “We might as well start going through it so we can get this over with. You’re upset about something, so let’s figure it out.”
“Fine,” she says, taking a sip of her own water, her green eyes fiery as she stares at me.
If this is what being married to Hannah is like, then I’m excited for the rest of our lives. I’d rather be facing off with her fire than soothe my muscles in a tub of ice right now.
“Luke, this isyourhouse,” she says, the frustration in her voice unmistakable now.
I frown, leaning back slightly as her words sink in. I know what she’s saying, but I don’t know why she considers it to be such a big deal. Those weren’t the words I was expecting.
“Yes,” I say, slowly, measuring my words. “And now it’s yours too. As of today, we live here together.”
She shakes her head, her fork clinking softly as she sets it down. Her eyes lift to meet mine.
“Saying that doesn’t mean anything,” she says, her wordssharp, but not cruel. “All my stuff is at my own apartment in Durham. The one I just re-signed a lease on. I left everything back there. I basically have the clothes I packed for a weekend in Vegas. And what little I did bring, I couldn’t even unpack because I didn’t know if I should move your things to make room for mine, or if I should use a different closet, in a different room…” she stops abruptly, as if realizing she’s letting it all out at once.
She touched on so many things. Things that we won’t be able to fix right this second. But there is one thing we can figure out right now.
“Inmybedroom,” I say without hesitation, the words coming out firm and final. “You’ll unpack your stuff inourbedroom. The master bedroom.”
“Lucas—” she starts, but there’s something weary in her tone now.
