Page 82 of The Geography of Happiness

He frowned. “And you decided that I’d just up and leave without telling you or texting or leaving a note?”

I shrugged. “I’m not your keeper.”

His gaze narrowed. “And I’m not a jerk. Here, make yourself useful.” He set the box on the countertop and removed a half-dozen paper bags, which he handed to me. “I went to get us breakfast, along with one or two other things. The bakery opens at five to catch the early truckies. Now are you going to argue or are you going to eat?”

The tempting aromas of sugar, butter, chocolate, cheese, and bacon wafted from the bags into the kitchen, making my stomach growl.

He chuckled. “Yeah, I thought that might be the case. I brought enough for Hannah, if she feels up to it, as well as a hot chocolate. It’s freaking cold out there, by the way.”

“Shit. I totally forgot Gabby.” I glanced back out the window to find one sorry-looking retriever glaring up at me. “She’s pissed all right.” I slid off the countertop to let her inside and she bolted straight past me to flirt shamelessly with Spencer. It was the doggy equivalent offuck you, arsehole,and I didn’t blame her.

“Well, good morning to you too.” Spencer scruffed Gabby around her ears and then removed a carton of what I knew to be very expensive dog kibble from the box he’d carried inside. He shook it. “Are you a hungry girl?”

Gabby’s eyes widened like saucers at the sound, and when Spencer filled a bowl, she dived right in.

“You’re spoiling her,” I groaned.

Spencer smiled. “Absolutely, I am.” And we watched Gabby clean her bowl in under a minute flat before heading back to Hannah’s room. “I’ll take another look at her after breakfast, but she’s moving better than I expected, so that bodes well. Here, get this on, you’re making me cold just looking at you.” He lifted a sweater from a hook by the back door and threw it my way. “The plates are in the drawer next to the oven. I’ll put the jug on. How is Hannah doing?”

“Better,” I answered, donning the sweater and re-wrapping the blanket around my waist. “I’ll make her a plate and take it in.” I started sorting the bags of buns and pastries onto plates—cheese and bacon scrolls, sausage rolls, breakfast sandwiches, and a few death-by-sugar options to cover all the food groups.

As I worked, I told Spencer about Hannah’s progress, how her headache and nausea had eased but that I was worried about her knee.

A deep frown cut his brow. “How bad is it?”

I shrugged. “It’s too early to know. It might heal without problems, or it might not. Your guess is as good as mine. JIA is a fickle bitch and Hannah’s been through enough already.” Myvoice broke at the finish and Spencer walked over to where I stood and pulled me into his arms.

There was no attempt at meaningless reassurance, he just held me, and for once it didn’t feel like I was soldiering on alone. And when I finally pulled away and scrubbed at my wet cheeks with the sleeve of his sweater, he brushed a thumb under each of my eyes and simply said, “Eat first, talk later, yeah?”

“Eat, sure,” I agreed. “But no more talking, please. Nothing to do now but wait it out and see what happens.”

He studied me for a moment, then nodded. “Fair enough.”

But when I turned back to the island to grab a plate of food for Hannah, an arm snaked around my waist, a chin landed on my shoulder, and Spencer’s hot breath ran over my bare skin, making me shiver.

“You’re keeping Hannah from her breakfast,” I teased, leaning back into his warmth.

“She won’t starve for the sake of a couple of minutes.” He kissed my shoulder. “Because, as it happens, I picked you up a little surprise while I was out.”

A small box of English breakfast tea appeared on the island directly in front of me and I stared at it, pulse thrumming. Tea. Spencer had bought me tea. From the giddy reaction of my heart and the tears that pooled in my eyes, he may as well have brought me a fucking bouquet of flowers.

“I didn’t know what you liked, so I bought a selection,” he admitted almost shyly, sliding three more boxes alongside the first.

I spun and clamped his face in my hands, blinking back my tears. “You bought me four boxes of tea?”

He flushed. “Well, five, actually, if you count the disgusting berry-zinger-herbal thingy that the dairy owner convinced me I should take if I wanted to really cover my bases. He tried to sell me some disgusting chai number as well, but I was onto himby then. That stuff smells like my socks after a long day in the woolshed kicking through muck.”

I grinned and smacked a hard kiss onto his lips. “Berry-zinger-herbal thingy, huh?” I held him in place so we were eye to eye. “You’re batshit, you know that, right?”

He popped a kiss on the end of my nose. “And you’re welcome. You deserve to have what you want, what you like.”

He looked so serious, so genuine that I almost laughed.

“Besides, it’s worth two kisses at the very least, don’t you think?” He leaned down to snag another but then stopped abruptly. “Dammit. Hold that thought.” And with that he was running for the front door, leaving me standing there mid-pucker.

I sighed and took a bite of a caramel scroll, which turned out to be delicious.

The front door slammed and Spencer reappeared with a large carry cage that he deposited on the floor. “Ta-da!” He opened the door and a nose poked out, quickly followed by the rest of a very curious Australian cattle dog. Miller.

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