Page 32 of Unfinished
Why is he always doing that? Just to torture me by dragging my attention to the forearms that haunt my dreams?
“Do you want to eat here on the couch, or would you rather come sit at the island?” He thumbs over one shoulder. “I can also set us up in the breakfast room.” He flashes me a heart-stopping smile. “Or the dining room if you’re feeling fancy.”
I look down at my current state. “I think it’s fair to say I’m not feeling fancy.” I peel back the blanket covering me and work my legs over the side of the overstuffed couch I’m occupying. “But I should probably go back to your parents’.” I manage to get on my feet, blinking as the room sways. “I don’t want to get you sick.”
“Or…” Tobias comes to my side, resting a hand on my back. “You could eat some soup and go back to sleep and not worry about whether or not I get sick.”
“I should definitely worry about you getting sick.” I snort. “You’ll end up with a man-cold, and I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“If I get sick, it will be my own fault.” He all but lifts me into the same stool I occupied the night he made me dinner. “And I’ll take it like a man.”
“I know. That’s what I’m worried about.” I yelp a little as he scoots me closer to the counter, the movement unexpected. “I know how men act when they’re sick.”
“No.” He rounds the counter and lifts the lid on a large pot. Steam escapes, along with a glorious savory scent. “You know howcertainmen act when they’re sick.” He opensanother pot, this one filled with cooked orzo. “You’ve never seen me sick.”
“I’ve seen you hungover,” I remind him as he adds a scoop of pasta to a large bowl. “And it wasn’t pretty.”
“You saw me hungover when I was twenty-two.” His eyes come to my face, voice serious as he says, “I’ve changed a little since then.”
I swallow hard, because I’m not sure I can deny that.
The old Tobias is still there. Funny. Easygoing. Teasing. But now there’s a shadow of something else as well. A maturity he didn’t have before. His words come slower. They’re more thoughtful. Careful even.
And if Tobias is different, then what he wants could be different too, and I don’t know how I feel about that.
“See how this tastes.” He slides the bowl he assembled in front of me, along with a slice of crusty sourdough bread coated in a thick layer of butter. Herbs and spices float in the amber broth, along with carrots, celery, shredded chicken, and flecks of seasoning.
Feeling hesitant—I don’t know why—I scoop up a little of the broth and bring it to my lips. The flavors explode on my tongue. Even with the flu, I can make out everything from cinnamon and nutmeg to lemon juice and thyme. Never in a million years would I have thought the contrasting tastes could go together, but it’s so much better than basic chicken noodle soup.
And, based on the way Tobias is grinning at me, he freaking knows it.
“Good, isn’t it?” He goes to work composing a bowl for himself. “I wish I could take full credit for it, but all I did was assemble the pieces Mariah told me to.”
That makes sense. This is definitely an elevatedsoup. One I wouldn’t expect a single man—no matter how handsome, charming, and impervious to the man-flu he might be—would know how to make.
“That was pretty nice of her to go to all that effort to teach you how to make soup.”
Tobias’s mouth drops open. “For your information, I know how to make soup.” He adds broth over his pasta. “I just didn’t know how to make this particular soup.” He comes around to sit next to me, elbow brushing mine as he takes his place. “And Mariahispretty nice. She’s the one who taught me how to make the treats I give Copper.”
My next spoonful hovers in front of my mouth, frozen in place as I slowly turn to look at the man next to me. “You make Copper homemade dog treats?”
“I didn’t really have much of a choice. Mariah made her a batch once, and after that she wouldn’t touch a Milk Bone.” He tips his head at where Bruno is curled up. “He likes them too. I’ll make a batch tonight, so we have plenty to bribe him outside with.”
Oh no. No, no, no, no. “You don’t have to do that.” I take a deep breath, because I don’t really want to say what I have to. “I’m going to go back to the big house tonight, so Copper can have her treats all to herself.”
Tobias leans back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest as he studies me. “Is that really what you want to do? Go back to lying in an empty house feeling like shit?” He tips his head toward my puppy. “Run him in and out all night with cold medicine coursing through your veins?”
No. That’s not what I really want to do. But I’m self-aware enough to know that being around Tobias is not the best idea, all things considered.
I’m supposed to be starting a new life, not wishing I could go back to an old one.
“You can sleep upstairs, and I’ll stay down here with the dogs. Get a good night's rest, and then in the morning, if you’re feeling better, I’ll drive you and Bruno right back up to the big house.” Tobias lays it out like it makes sense.
And unfortunately, it does.
If I go back to the big house alone, either I won’t take medicine so I can make sure I get up with the puppy—and that plan did not go super well for me the last time I tried it—or I take medicine, put him in his crate, and snore while he cries and shits himself.
Not a great option either.
