He lifted one shoulder in a shrug.
Okay. She watched him a moment longer and then moved into the kitchen area, opening cabinets until she located the plates. She removed two and moved to stand by him at the stove.
He didn’t say anything as she held one out. He glanced at it and then scooped eggs onto the plate. She held out the other one and he followed suit. She reached for the toast, placing one on each plate.
She turned for the table and set them down, each one across from each other. She turned to fetch utensils, but he already had them. He nodded at her and set a fork on the side of each plate. “Sit. Eat.”
She obliged, trying not to feel uncomfortable as she watched him move about the kitchen space. He fetched butter and what looked like a jar of jam from the refrigerator. “You drink coffee?” he asked, reaching for the pot that was already made.
“Yes. Thank you.” He brought two mugs over and poured the steaming liquid into one for her. She stared at his hands, the tapering fingers and short-nailed blunt tips. Her face warmed remembering their texture, the sensation on her skin. How strong they felt. How safe and worshipped and so very right they’d made her feel. No one ever made her feel like that. For one brief, terrifying moment she worried no one ever would again. Then, she shook off the fear. If that were true, then at least she had last night. She’d cherish that memory.
She lifted the mug to her face and inhaled the wonderful aroma, trying to act composed. “It smells great.” She took her first savoring sip, letting the caffeine seep into her system.
They ate in silence for a while and she marveled that he had spoken more during sex. There was nothing about this man that smacked of shyness or reticence. Light of day brought reality. If he wasn’t talking to her now it was because he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to talk to her.
She moistened her lips and reached for her slice of toast. “When do you think you’ll check on the road?”
“Already did.”
She froze as she held a slice of toast to her lips. He’d already checked the road? He’d said nothing about it to her. “You did?”
He drank from his mug, staring at her over the rim. “Aye,” he answered as he set his coffee back down on the table. “Water’s still too high to cross.”
“Oh.” The news left her with mixed feelings. She wanted to stay. She didn’t want last night to be all there was. But she wanted him to want her to stay … with the same desperate hunger she felt, with the same longing. “I’m sorry for putting you out.”
He stared at her silently.
She moistened her lips. “I’m sure you have things to do. Please don’t let me inconvenience you. Don’t let me keep you from what you need to do today.”
What else could she say? This man had never wanted her here. He’d made that abundantly clear. They’d had their one-night stand and she couldn’t even do him the courtesy of hitting the road after it was done. She’d never had a one-night stand, but she knew how they worked. That’s why they were called one-night stands.
And then suddenly it was important she ask. Important she knew. She cleared her throat and lifted her chin. “Do you want me to stay?”
Maybe it was just her ego at work, demanding to hear him say he wanted her here. As seconds ticked by, she repeated the question. “Do you want me to stay?”
“There’s not really a choice right now, is there?” He stabbed some egg onto his fork. “There’s no getting through the road. Maybe tomorrow, but more than likely the day after. It should be passable then.”
So another day. Maybe two.
She fought against the excitement that threatened to overwhelm her. This was forced proximity. He wasn’t saying he’d like her to stay.
“That’s not what I asked you.” She held his gaze and spoke slowly, enunciating each word. “Do you want me to stay here?”
He stared at her, still frustratingly mute, not offering what she craved to hear, what she needed to hear. After last night, she had to know. Was this truly a one-night stand?
Or was something more happening here?
Please, let it be more.
She knew what she wanted him to say, but as they regarded each other in silence, she grew certain she wasn’t going to hear what she wanted. He wasn’t capable of telling her what he didn’t feel.
Of course, something more wasn’t happening here. She’d shown up here unwanted and unwelcomed and had a surprising night of sex with a too hot guy. Great sex. But it was just sex and now it was over.
She knew what she had to do.
Thea pushed up from the table and carried her dishes to the sink. She made quick work of washing them and putting them in the dish rack to drain. She wouldn’t leave him with more work because of her. She would clean up after herself, and it would be like she was never here. A pang near her heart accompanied that thought.
She heard his chair scrape back from the table. He carried his dishes to the sink where she worked. “Allow me.” She smiled tightly and reached to take them from him. “You cooked, after all. It’s the least I can do.”
She gripped the plates, and then realized he wasn’t giving them up. She looked up at him, angling her head inquiringly.
They shared a long look, full of the heat and the memory of last night. It hovered between them a crackling, palpable thing. She held her breath, hoping he would do something. Say something. Touch her. Kiss her. Throw her down on the bed and never let her leave.
That didn’t happen. Because that would be crazy. The stuff of movies and romance novels. Not reality.
He released the plates into her hands and turned away. His solid footsteps thudded across the house. He paused near the door and lifted his jacket off a wall hook and slipped it on. “I’ll be back later.”
He pulled open the front door and stepped outside, closing the door after him.
Turning back around, she finished the dishes, trying not to think how this was the last time she would see him. Drying her hands on a towel, she glanced around and spotted the unmade bed. She tackled that next, making certain it was military neat. She would leave no mess behind. She tidied the couch cushions next, folding the throw and draping it over the back.
Satisfied, she fetched her bag from the floor near the couch. Her shoes waited at the door where she left them the night before. Had that only been a night ago? Not even twenty-four hours had passed. How was that possible? She didn’t even feel like the same person.
She slid on her shoes and bent to lace them up, feeling a little sick. Standing, she secured both straps of her backpack over her shoulders and looked around one final time, blinking burning eyes as she imprinted the house in her memory.