Page 72 of Come Back to Me

“That the world wants to fuck you in your fighter jet?”

That has him grunting as he pulls off at the next exit, looking for the takeout restaurant. “Aside from that.” While he turns into the drive-thru, he states, “My brother’s running a sanctuary, and my sister-in-law works for outlaws.”

A sanctuary?“Zee doesn’t work for outlaws. Her boss is legit.”

“Legitimately getting criminals off of serious crimes. You do know I’m a lawman, Ms. MacFarlane.”

The twist to his lips has me biting mine.

“Fried chicken for me.” Food is safe.

“Fries?”

“For future reference, you never have to ask. Fries are God’s food.”

“Thought with your family, that would be pasta. Especially after that whole thing your nonna put me through.”

“She was testing your stomach.”

“Did I pass?”

“You know you did,” I grumble crossly.

“Figured as much when Zee nearly shit a brick at the dinner table.”

As he places our order, I fall into silence, but I don’t pick up my phone to flick through my notifications. Why would I when he’s far more interesting? Instead, I watch him.

He pays without complaint, and I don’t think that’s because of our whole ‘not working’ conversation, but because that’s who he is.

A gentleman. Much like his brothers.

(God, that’s so hot. Like Cary Grant with a Stetson.)

But as he collects our food and charms the attendant, a thought occurs to me.

“Why are you here?” I ask softly when he parks us in a space beyond the small restaurant.

His hands freeze mid-delve into the paper bag. Then, his gaze clashes with mine. “Tee, if I had an answer for that, I’d give it to you.”

Cody

Iknow that’s a useless answer, but because Tee is unpredictable and, even worse, or better depending on the scenario, appreciates unpredictability in others, she accepts it.

Either that or the peace offering of fried chicken does most of the legwork for me.

We sit in a Double Double Pizza & Chicken parking lot in silence for the most part, and stranger still, it’s not awkward.

Not entirely.

There’s so much I want to say, but so little I know how to verbalize.

We have a wealth of history behind us. A wealth that she’s entirely in the dark about. It’s not fair. I know that. But the idea of her hating me sours my stomach, making the fried chicken and coleslaw settle uneasily in my gut.

“When I was a kid, we used to go to Saskatoon a lot.” I eye the greasy chicken in my hand. “Mum would always end a shopping trip here. Always. This is the first time I’ve come here since she left.”

“Oh, that’s so sad,” she whispers.

I guess it is.

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