34. Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Four

Toby

W hy did I do this?

Blowing out a breath, I knock on the panel separating me from Anna before I talk myself into turning around for the fourth time.

I have no idea if I did it right. I also don't know if reheating it made it any worse.

Why the fuck did I do this?

"Go away, Toby," she calls back, and I snort.

"I, uh … did something."

It's something alright. Something that I was hoping she'd come out and find me in the middle of doing so I wouldn't have to stand here and explain.

I hear her tiny growl and her mumbled words moments before the door swings open, and I thrust my filled hand out to her.

She stands there in a baggy tee shirt she tied off on the side and a pair of yoga pants, staring at me with parted pink lips and a furrow to her brow.

Fuck, she's sexy.

"What is this?" She doesn't take it, just stares at it, so I lift higher.

"I made it."

Anna's brows furrow so deep, they meet in the middle, and yet she still doesn't look away from it.

Like it's going to jump out at her.

"Is it poisoned?"

Or that.

I chuckle. "No. Here," I lift the large ceramic mug to my lips and sip, letting the chocolaty flavor coat my tongue. "See?"

She watches me wearily through narrowed eyes until I shrug.

Her eyes refuse to leave mine even when she lifts the mug to her own lips and takes a swig.

It's not until the taste registers that she looks taken aback, her wide eyes landing on the cup in her grip.

"You made … hot chocolate?"

"Uh." I brush my hands down my beard. "Yeah. Is it terrible? We were out of the packets, so I figured something else out."

"You made hot chocolate … from scratch ?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"It sounded like a better idea than microwaving Bailey's."

Anna sputters out a laugh and nods her agreement. "It's pretty good, Toby." Her cheeks heat, but her smile is fucking radiant when she aims it at me.

I grin, too, my stomach warmed over, my senses filled with her ocean scent. "C'mon. Work's over for the day."

Holding out a hand, I wait for her to slide her pale skin against mine, her hand soft to the touch.

Delicate .

It's what comes to mind when I wrap our entwined hands around her until my arm drapes over her shoulder and I'm pulling her in the direction of the living room.

The woman is anything but delicate, though. She just feels that way in my arms, in this moment, all tucked up into me.

It's the perfect fit.

"What's that smell?"

"You saying I stink?"

She snickers. "No, it smells delicious. What did you make?"

I chuckle and release her so that she can plop onto the recliner part of the couch. "The biggest plate of nachos ever."

Bending to the coffee table, I remove the overturned cooking sheet. The scent of fresh taco meat and chopped onions wafts through the air, and I hum in appreciation.

"Holy crap." Anna scoots to the edge of her seat. "That looks amazing."

"It is. Cause I made it." I grin at her when she rolls her eyes and drag the table closer so we can both reach from our seats.

The woman surprises the hell out of me by snagging a blanket and draping it over both of our laps. She lifts the cooking sheet from its pot holders, tests the bottom to make sure it's not too hot, and lays it directly on the blanket spread across us.

Her feet are up before I can even register what she's doing, her hands armed with the fork I left there for her to eat with.

"Remote?"

I'm unable to tame my smile as I produce the remote for the TV over the mantle and hand it over.

She chooses some show about a group of friends all hanging out at a coffee shop together and we settle into the cushions with only an occasional snicker from her and the crunch of chips between teeth.

There are moments that I would swear she's mouthing the words right along with the actors on the show, but when I sneak a look over, she's focused on the TV with her lips pressed together.

The silence between us is comfortable. It's easy.

So easy that when the food is all gone and Anna goes to relax into the couch, I lift her feet into my lap and cover her legs with the blanket.

"What are you doing?"

I shrug and work my thumbs into the socked arches of her foot. "I listen to you pace all damn day. It's like a stampede in that room while you work."

She huffs and closes her eyes.

They stay that way, even when I switch to the other foot and knead the tense muscles there long enough that the episode clicks over to the next one.

Convinced she's passed out, I rest my hands on her shins and drop my head back against the couch.

I stare at the ceiling, questions rolling around in my head.

I can't catch any of them long enough to find an answer before my thoughts are wandering off to the next one that flitters away in the wind of my mind. All of them fly away except one.

Is this what it feels like to give a fuck?

God, I'd kill for a shot right now. If only to calm the racing thoughts for just a minute.