Page 164 of Come Back to Me

“And they are?”

“One, you betrayed me.” That has me wincing, though it’s not exactly news to me. “Two, you haven’t asked me. Maybe I already ate.”

“I don’t doubt you did, but I’m pretty sure there’s room in there for one of Mrs. Abelman’s Nanaimo bars.” I may have scored her love of Nanaimo bars from Colt. “I know they’re not Zee’s, but Mrs. Abelman’s are just as good.”

“Debatable.” Her nose wrinkles, but she dips into the paper bag. “There are two.”

Like the wise man I can sometimes be, I murmur, “They’re both for you.”

“They are?”

“Yes.”

“What are you having?”

“The cookie.”

“That better be a euphemism!”

I think back to what I said and cough out a laugh. “It was, but if both types are in stock, I’m amenable.”

She falls silent, so I peek a look at her and notice she’s gaping at me.

Better that than crying.

Or screaming.

“So, you’d eat me for lunch, huh?”

“Yes.”

That wasn’t on the agenda, but fuck if I won’t put it right to the top of the list if it means she’ll talk to me.

Properly.

Not about dogs.

A hum filters through the cab.

The tension in my shoulders fades and I settle deeper into my seat.

God, I missed that hum.

I’m so fucking screwed. She’s only given me the cold shoulder for a little while and I feel like she sent me to Outer Siberia on a sabbatical.

“You’re going to apologize via orgasms, are you?”

“Is that an option?” I ask carefully, hands flexing on the wheel.

More silence.

Then, I find her delving into one of the sandwiches and plucking a piece of ham from it.

As Brogan feasts, she hums again, and I let it filter through me like a fucking drug.

I swear to God, she’s better than ibuprofen.

Or Viagra.

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