Page 5 of Tinder Embrace
"I can't manage the stairs at my place, Davis. Not every day. If I crash in Jo's room at the farm, I'll heal that much faster. Plus, I can help you with chores. See? Win-win." I added my most charming grin, hoping to sell him on my plan.
At least this time, he didn't audibly dismiss my idea, and I counted it as agreement.
"Great, it's settled. I'll drop you at home and grab a few things from my place, then be back to make you lunch."
Davis sighed, the heavy gust sounding like he dragged it from the depths of his soul. "What do you need? I can handle the stairs and bring you whatever it is." His offer, grudging as it was, still warmed my heart.
"Thanks, Davis." I bit my lip, debating. The thought of climbing my stairs made me want to cry. Which meant I was giving Davis permission to touch my underwear. I wasn't sure who was going to be more embarrassed, him or me. "I need some basics. I'll make you a quick list," I offered, taking the turn to my apartment instead of to the Pruitt Farm.
When we arrived, I jotted down a handful of must-haves on the back of an envelope with the pen from my purse and handed it to Davis with my keys.
His dark brows drew down, a frown taking over his features.
"You need all this?" He swallowed, throat bobbing, and a wash of color deepened his tan. "Okay, Bee."
As if accepting his fate, he strode to my apartment building, jogging up the stairs with an ease I envied. My ankle freaking hurt. I'd done my best to keep a positive attitude, but all I wanted was to curl up in front of the TV with an ice pack. My foot felt like fire. The throbbing had only intensified since we left the clinic.
At least Davis had accepted my list with grace, and I wouldn't be forced to navigate my stairs. I'd worried he'd balk at gathering my work outfits and toiletries, but he seemed to recognize that I considered them essentials.
A few minutes later, Davis returned, my bright rainbow bag in one masculine hand. He stowed the huge duffel in the back, then slid into the front passenger seat.
"Got it all?" I asked, surprised by how quickly he returned. I'd thought finding everything I'd requested would take him longer.
"Yep." Davis refused to look at me, making me wonder if he'd found some of theotherthings I kept in my underwear drawer.
"Thanks, Davis." I was embarrassed by how squeaky my voice sounded. I tried not to picture his big hands fondling my lacy underwear or finding the toys at the bottom of my drawer as I drove us back to his place.
He came around the hood, offering me his arm for support as I hobbled inside, my bag casually slung over his other shoulder.
I breathed a sigh of relief when I made it to the couch, collapsing on the brown leather monstrosity in front of his TV.
"Ice pack?" he offered after dropping my bag in Jo's room.
I nodded. "Please. Thanks again, Davis. Are there any chores you need help with today?"
"Nope."
Somehow, I suspected that even if the real answer was a list a mile long, his response would have been the same.
He dropped an ice pack in my lap before tossing the TV remote on the couch next to me and disappearing.
Slowly, I looked around the living room, not sure exactly what I'd expected.
Davis didn't exactly hang out under the best of circumstances. I shouldn't have been surprised that he ditched me as soon as was borderline polite. After all, I'd effectively invited myself to be his houseguest. Still, his abandonment hurt. Telling myself he was just a private man, not annoyed by my very existence, and believing it were two different things. Just because I got along with most people didn’t mean there wouldn’t be exceptions. I’d only hoped that once he got to know me, he’d put down his armor and soften.
The Pruitt farmhouse dated back to the 1950s, so not very old, and, thankfully, it was designed along the lines of the ramblers of the era, all one story. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a kitchen, living room, and small office—it was nothing lavish, but it was comfortable. Davis and his sister Jo had kept the house when they took over the farm from their father. Everything in it had the cozy patina of age, from the coffee table to the couch and recliners.
I turned on a comfort baking show, trying to distract myself from the throbbing in my ankle. I debated texting Jo, letting her know about the day's drama, but I didn't want to disturb her. She'd been talking about the Craft Brewers Conference for weeks, and I couldn’t ruin it for her.
My stomach rumbled, and I looked longingly toward the kitchen. How annoyed would Davis be if I asked for a sandwich? I couldn't even be sure he was still in the house. It'd be just like Davis to slip out the back door to do chores, leaving me alone. Assuming he could do much with his arm.
Guilt filled me. It was my fault he'd gotten hurt. I'd suggested staying at the farm with the intention of helping, not creating more work for him. But I felt crummy. The ice was helping some, but I dreaded going back to school on Monday. Teaching all day would be hell. Second-graders were adorable when they were occupied, but let them run wild, and I'd have a tornado of chaos on my hands. I was tired just thinking about it.
Davis appeared, startling me out of my pity party. He used his good hand to set a plate on the coffee table in front of me.
"I could hear your stomach growling from my room," he groused, disappearing almost as quickly as he'd appeared.
"Thanks," I called out after him, watching him stride away.
