Page 15 of Steinbeck
“No.”His mouth tightened along the edges as he put the gun into his belt, in the back.“I thought...”
She stilled.Oh.“You thought I’d ditched you.”
“It’s happened before.”He raised a shoulder.“Let’s see, there was the ocean?—”
“That was panic.”
“And the shooting in Mariposa?—”
“I dragged your body to the hospital!”She walked over, put her pack on the table.
“And—oh wait, the running part in Barcelona.”
Her mouth pinched.
“And what about the dance floor at Boo’s wedding?”
She grinned.“Who knew you were such a good dancer?”
“You took Declan’s phone and slipped it into my pocket.”
He was justnowfiguring that out?
“And we haven’t even mentioned Krakow.”
“Do we have to?”She opened the pack.“We’ve been over this.I had a mission to complete.Not to mention, Itriedto get you away from danger.”
Silence, and she glanced at him.
He stood in the dim light of her under-cupboard kitchen lights, a tired and raw expression darkening his face.She’d taken out the drinks and now set them on her table.Turned to him.
Swallowed.
He took a breath, and the look in his eyes matched the urge inside her, the woman who really just wanted to eat a prego with the man under a star-strewn Lisbon sky and forget...
“I’m sorry.”
He blinked, raised an eyebrow.“What?”
“I’m sorry I, uh...left you.I had to call my sister.And I got us steak sandwiches.”She pulled out the napkin-wrapped street food.“Except they’re a little flattened, thank you so much, Jason Bourne.”
He frowned, then took the proffered sandwich.“You got food?”
She grabbed a bottle opener and her own sandwich, then opened the balcony door.“Of course.I know you.”
He made a little grunt, which made her smile as she stepped over the doorframe onto the narrow space and sat on the concrete on one end.
He came out and squeezed himself down on the other end, his legs crossed in front of him.
She crossed her legs on the other side of his and spread out their dinner.“I hope you like mustard.”
He bit into the sandwich, made a sound of hunger and delight that did strange things to her insides.“This is fantastic.Reminds me of a panino con la salamella—it’s a sandwich with onions and peppers made from salamella, a sort of sausage?—”
“From northern Italy.I’m familiar with it.”She took a bite.“And you’re right.Although it’s not as good as manti from?—”
“Kazakhstan.”
“Almaty?”She lifted her bottle of Sumol in a toast.
