Page 56 of Fragile Sanctuary

He frowned. “There are still three chapters left.”

Heat hit my cheeks. “I don’t like to read the endings.”

Anson gaped at me, his jaw going slack. “You don’t finish books? Ever?”

That twitchiness skated over me again. “I don’t like the finality. Even if it is happy. I like thinking the story could go on forever.”

He studied me for a long time, his fingers still toying with the bookmark. “Seems like a waste to go on that whole journey and not get the final payoff.”

“But isn’t it better to just enjoy the journey? Really take each moment in for what it is?”

Anson made a humming noise in the back of his throat as he stared at me. Something about his gaze told me he’d put together too many of my pieces. It only made the twitchiness worse. So, I focused on the Crock-Pot instead.

“It smells good,” he said, taking pity on me. “What is it?”

The timer said five minutes to go. “Chicken tacos.”

Anson gave another of those grunts.

“Want some?” I asked before I could stop myself.

He stiffened, just realizing that he’d backed himself into a corner. “I’m good?—”

“It’s just tacos, not torture or a marriage proposal. Plus, you’ll getto eat in the ambiance of Lolli’s dick flower. Unless you have something against tacos and dick flowers?” I challenged.

Anson’s lips twitched the tiniest bit. It was so slight I would’ve missed it if I hadn’t been focused on his face. He glanced at the Crock-Pot. “I like tacos.”

“Good to know you’re not a monster,” I said. “Grab some plates. They’re in the cupboard up?—”

But Anson had already opened the exact right cabinet.

“You really were snooping, weren’t you?” I accused.

He shook his head, placing two plates on the counter. “This was the most likely spot for them. Between the oven and the fridge. This counter space is obviously your workstation when you cook, so…”

I stared at him as I reached for the fridge handle. “Are you some sort of house psychic?”

Anson barked out a laugh—or something that resembled one. It was gritty and sounded rusty. “A house psychic?”

Opening the fridge, I peeked inside to find the things I needed. Salsa, sharp cheddar, lettuce. “You just seem to know all these things about my house without me telling you. Maybe it’s because you build them for a living.”

“Maybe,” he agreed, but his voice had lost the edge of humor.

I handed him the cheese and a grater. “Think you can handle this?”

Anson scowled at me. “You and your brother never think I can feed myself.”

I snorted. “Shep thinks it’s his job to take care of everyone in his orbit. I, on the other hand, just want to make sure you’re not going to maim yourself on my cheese grater. Not sure my homeowner’s insurance covers that.”

He let out a huff of air and set to work shredding some cheese for us.

I washed the lettuce and began chopping. It was nice having someone else in my space, even if he was quiet. The energy of another human being was comforting.

“This enough?” Anson asked.

I peeked over and nodded. “You can put it in a bowl. You probably know where those are, too.”

Anson got the cabinet right on the first try.

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