Page 31 of Drop the Mitts

André grinned. “Hey, I’m good with eating these tacos myself, but?—”

“Tacos?” Her ears perked up. “From where?”

“Añejo.”

Grace’s eyes flared. “They’re downtown.”

“Yes. They are.”

Grace fiddled with the door knob, then finally stepped back, just enough for him to pass to the entryway.

Not into the house. Not an invitation. Just out of the cold.

She reached for the bag, but he didn’t immediately hand it over. “I got a few for me, too.” That whole week it’d felt like he was playing chess. Taking his time to make a move, then committing and holding his breath until she responded.

She was unpredictable. Frustrating. A code he couldn’t crack. And that was probably why he wanted to keep playing.

Grace made a small noise as she pulled the cuff of her sweatshirt over her hand. Why was that so hot? It was coy, almost schoolgirl-ish.

As if sensing his thoughts, Grace dropped her shirt and straightened. “I can get a plate and take mine?—”

“Am I that repulsive to you? You can’t even eat a taco with me?” Screw the game. He was breaking the fourth wall.

Grace blinked. “You’re not—I’ve had a bad couple of days, and I’m not even dressed?—”

“You’re more dressed than you were in the car the other day, and yeah, I’m aware of your shitty days. Country told the team what’s going on with the adoption, so I sat in 17th Ave traffic to get you some damn tacos, and now you’re acting like I came here holding a condom in my teeth.”

Grace opened her mouth, then snapped it closed. She drew a deep breath, then exhaled and drew another. “I—I can’t do this.”

“Do what? Spend time with me? Because?—”

“No, I can’t make another decision, okay?” Grace stalked into the living room, threading her hands in her hair. “I’m in charge of everything right now. The renovations, the permitting, one of the largest purchases with my company that I’ve ever managed, and then all of this with Country and Jenna. I can’t get the damn therapist on this case to call me back, the birth mother’s lawyer is cock-blocking me, and I just—I can’t do it. I can’t be in charge of hosting you for tacos, André, okay? I can’t think about whether I should offer you water or Coke or the bottle of tequila I’ve been too scared to bust out in case I drink the whole damn bottle, and whether you’d be okay with paper plates, because that’s what I’d be using for tacos tonight since I don’t have a spare second in my day to run the dishwasher, and?—”

“Right, got it,” André snapped, kicking off his shoes and striding into the room. He stopped in front of her, momentarily distracted by her pulse fluttering in her throat.

He wet his lips. “So here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to put my arm around your waist. I’m going to take you into the kitchen, and then I’m going to tell you exactly what to do. No decisions. Just tacos.”

That damn flush rose to her cheeks again. She swallowed hard. “No decisions.”

“Right.” Something flickered behind her eyes, and André caught her wrist. “Not because you’re incapable, but because you’re so damn capable your brain needs time to shut off. I’mgoing to give that to you, okay? And if you don’t like it, you can tell me to go, and I’ll?—”

“Don’t go,” she whispered, her shoulders finally dropping an inch.

André took in the deep circles under her eyes, then did exactly what he said he would. He slid his arm around her waist and pulled her toward the kitchen. Her body stiffened for a heartbeat before melting into the contact. She moved with him, barefoot on the hardwood, her long legs brushing his as they walked.

“Hands on the counter.” André planted her next to the stools at the island. “You can sit when I tell you to.”

Her brows lifted, but she didn’t argue. He didn’t want to take this too far, but that desperate look in her eyes made him bold. If he was too passive, this wouldn’t work. Human brains weighed information and made choices nearly every second. Grace was so burned out, she needed to let go of all of them, even the subconscious ones.

André opened the cupboard on his right.

“Good guess.” Grace watched him pull two plates from the middle shelf.

André unpacked the food with slow precision. He rolled back the foil, and the scent of warm corn tortillas and slow-roasted pork filled the air. He arranged the tacos on the plates, added the salsa and lime, then slid her portion across the counter. “Sit.”

Her lips twitched, and she obeyed. André leaned over the counter, picking up a taco. “Eat the one on the right. You’re going to pick it up and make a mess. You’re not going to think about it or give a shit if juice drips over your hands and wrists because I’m making a mess, too. I’ll clean you after.”

Grace’s eyes flicked to his. Okay, maybe that was too much, but a small part of him wanted to see what he could get awaywith. Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink as she reached for the taco.

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