Page 42 of Diners, Damsels & Wolves

“I get to see you.” His voice was gruff, she couldn’t tell what emotion he was trying to mask. “I do wish it was under better circumstances with less blood.”

“Me too.” She smiled. “To be honest, I didn’t even realize what time it was until I saw you.”

“Well, that would be my fault.”

Opening one eye, she glanced at him. He looked sheepish. “I wanted to come by earlier. I thought we could go to the park for a walk before dinner. I tried calling, but when you didn’t answer, I thought I’d show up and see if you’d be okay with that.”

“Oh, yeah, I remember my phone going off. That was around the time she started throwing things at me.”

His expression looked pained.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” she said.

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

Sitting up in her chair, Tom pulled his hands back, placing them in his lap.

“I’m not so sure about that.” She laughed. “I think I kind of forgot about our date.”

“I think I’ll forgive you for that. This time.” He laughed too, no doubt trying to make her feel better.

“We can reschedule. I can call you when … when things calm down with her again. I don’t really want to leave her when she’s like this.”

“No.”

Startled by the finality in his tone, she eyed him. “What?”

“No, you’re not leaving her and we’re not rescheduling. We’ll relocate instead. I said I’d buy you dinner and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Stay there, I have to go make a phone call.”

“What?” she repeated, watching him leave.

“Stay,” he said over his shoulder before closing the front door. Less than five minutes later, he came back, surveying the broken mugs and plates scattered across the floor.

“Where’s your broom?” he asked.

“Oh no, I am not having you clean in my house.”

He arched a brow at her. “You just had blunt force trauma to the head and experienced a highly stressful ordeal, you should stay sitting down. Tell me where your broom is.”

“Bossy.”

“I’ll find it myself.” He started poking around, opening every door until he found the laundry closet where the broom and dustpan were hanging.

“Hey!”

“I’m not snooping.”

Putting her hand on the table to hoist herself from her seat, her fingers brushed against something hard that crinkled. As she looked down, she was filled with guilt.

“Did you … did you bring me flowers?”

“Yes. It’s customary for a man to bring flowers when picking up a woman for a date.”

Inspecting them, she frowned. “You cleaning up broken mugs in my kitchen isn’t exactly a date. I’m sorry, Thomas.”

“Tom,” he corrected, before turning his blazing eyes to her. “Anything can be a date if you want it to be. I get to spend an evening with you and I certainly count that as a date. Stop apologizing for things that aren’t your fault.”

Hiding her face in the flowers, she blushed. She was more than relieved, and highly flattered at his attitude. Yet she couldn’t help the guilt rising in her. He deserved a better date than this.