Page 132 of Reckless Obsession

His expression tightens.

“I saw you terrified.”

The bluntness of it makes my stomach drop.

I look back at the fire.

“Exactly.”

“And it scared me.”

I blink.

The river seems louder suddenly.

Tristan takes a breath, and when he speaks again, his voice is lower.

“Not because I think less of you.” He pauses. “Or because I think you’re weak.”

I swallow hard.

“You don’t have to say that.”

“I do.” His voice edges with frustration now. “Because you're sitting there convinced I treat you differently just because I saw you at your worst.”

“Well, aren’t you?”

“I didn’t bring you here because I think you need fixing or because I saw you at your worst,” he replies quietly. “I brought you here because you disappeared, and I didn’t know how to reach you without making it worse.”

“Same thing.” I say even as my heart keeps flipping. “Why? Why were you trying to reach me? You never do.”

“Because I’ve spent almost three weeks pretending I don’t think about you every hour of every day, and it clearly hasn’t worked.”

That lands somewhere I’m not prepared for.

I open my mouth to say something dismissive or make an easy joke to deflect the weight of that sentence. But nothing comes out. For once, I have nothing.

He watches me struggle with it, and something in his expression gentles further.

“Your food’s burning,” I say instead, because it’s the only defense I have left.

He glances at the grill. It is very clearly not burning.

He looks back at me. “You’re deflecting.”

“I’m protecting dinner. You’re welcome.”

He sighs, then glances down at himself and grimaces.

There’s a splatter of sauce across the front of his shirt, dark against the fabric, courtesy of whatever aggressive basting technique he’s been using on the sauce he’s made.

“Take over,” he says, stepping back from the grill and holding out the tongs to me. “They’re almost done. Just turn them a couple more times while I go and clean up.”

I look at the stain, then at him, then at the tongs.

“You’re abandoning your post because of one tiny splash?” I ask. “Wow. I didn’t take you for the messy type.”

“It’s not tiny,” he grunts.