With a groan, he rolled over to his back again. “I figured you wouldn’t be interested.”
“Not interested?” She turned onto her side so she could see his face. “Are you kidding? I was practically screaming my interest. I tried to kiss you.”
The vein in his temple started throbbing. “I figured you were just lonely, and I was handy. I mean…” His jaw flexed, making his next words come out tightly. “Why would you be interested in the guy who got your mom killed?”
All of Daisy’s breath left her in a whoosh, leaving her unable to speak for a full minute. She finally managed to force out the words. “What? I never blamed you.”
“Yeah.” He glanced at her quickly and then returned his gaze to the ceiling. “When we talked about it that night, I finally got that. After all these years, it was just hard to change my thinking, you know?”
“I know.” Tucking her body close to his side, she laid her cheek on his shoulder and stretched her arm across his chest. It felt strange to be lying there like that with Chris, but it also felt right. Even though she didn’t expect it to last—how could it when she couldn’t leave her house?—she was going to enjoy every second of this closeness with Chris. “Just so we’re clear, my mom’s death wasn’t your fault.”
He burrowed his arm underneath her so he could wrap it around her. “I shouldn’t have hesitated.”
“Not your fault.”
The silence continued for so long that Daisy began to doze.
“Okay, Dais,” he said quietly, the air from his words warm against her head. “Okay.”
A sleepy smile touched her face as she closed her eyes again. He’d sounded as if he was starting to believe it.
*
“Sorry I texted my list to you so late,” Daisy said, opening the interior door to let Tyler inside. Each time she got a glimpse of the outside, it got easier. Her next plan was to have someone hold the door open while she took a step toward it, but that would wait. She wanted to savor the day, to enjoy the knowledge that she and Chris were actually dating, without dealing with a potential anxiety attack.
“That’s okay.” Holding two grocery bags in each hand, he flicked his head to the side, tossing his bangs out of his eyes. His gaze was focused on her shoulder. “You probably were up pretty late. I heard about the fire.”
Daisy reached for the bags, but he turned, holding them out of reach.
“I’m supposed to put everything away,” he said, still not meeting her eyes. “It’s part of my job.”
She studied him for a few seconds. “Okay.” Although she really didn’t want someone else putting away her groceries, since it was a good way to lose the peanut butter in a cupboard she never opened, Tyler appeared determined. Something was off about him. He seemed unhappy, and she didn’t want to make his day worse. Maybe she could turn her search for her missing groceries into a treasure hunt. It could be fun.
Leading Tyler into the kitchen, she asked over her shoulder, “Did you want a coffee?” From the distaste he’d tried to hide the last time he’d had it, she expected him to decline, but he nodded, instead.
As she started his mocha-flavored coffee, he began putting her groceries away in sullen silence.
“You okay?” she asked.
One of his shoulders lifted in a shrug.
“Trouble at school?” She didn’t know if she should pry, but the quiet was uncomfortable, especially since he’d been chatty last time. Besides, she felt bad for the kid, apparently friendless and with the sheriff for a father.
“No. It’s almost done for the year, anyway.” His mournful tone didn’t match his words. Weren’t kids supposed to be excited about summer?
“Everything okay with your dad?”
“Why?” He almost dropped the milk, barely catching it before the glass bottle hit the floor.
“Just trying to guess what’s wrong.” And succeeding, judging by his reaction. “When I was your age and something was bothering me, it was usually something at school, or my parents were driving me crazy.” Her smile slipped away. “After my mom…died, it was a different story.”
“Your mom died?” He finally met her gaze.
She nodded. “She was shot during a gas station robbery.”
“Shit! How old were you?”
Daisy wondered if she was supposed to reprimand him for swearing, but then she just shrugged it off. “Sixteen.”
With his hip propping open the refrigerator door, he focused on the egg carton he was holding. “That sucks.”
“Yeah.” The understatement almost made her laugh. “It does.”
“My mom’s crazy.” Meeting her eyes briefly, he dropped them to the eggs again. “Full-on wacko. Not, like, a little bit crazy, like you.” His head came up, and he stared at her, stricken. “I…I mean…”