“Not today,” she replies. “But thanks for the offer. Murphy and I will be just fine.”
I nod and leave, worried about her. But Anastasia was right, Maggie doesn’t need us to fix anything for her. All I can do is be here for her if and when she needs me.
Traffic is light into the city since it’s a Sunday. I’m excited to see Anastasia. It’s been a couple of days, and now that I’m through the fog of intense work, I miss her.
But I find myself frowning when I pull up to the curb outside of her apartment.
She’s locking the door behind her, loaded down with bags and a box that must contain a cake.
I jump out of the car to help her before the cake ends up on the sidewalk.
“Hey,” I say, jogging to her. “Let me help you.”
“I have it.”
“Where are you going?”
“Why do you suddenly care?”
I scowl. I’ve completely missed something.
“Hold up.” I grip her shoulders, making her look at me. “What’s going on?”
“Check your phone once in a while.” She’s frustrated, and if I’m not mistaken, hurt. “I’ve called and texted, and I don’t like feeling desperate when it comes to a man, Kane. If you’re not interested or don’t have time for me, just say so, but have the courtesy to—”
“Stop talking.”
Her mouth closes and then opens again but no sound comes out. I hurry back to my car and reach for my still-dead phone.
“No battery,” I inform her.
“You can afford a new phone if that’s the problem. Or learn to plug it in.” She pushes her finger into my chest. This is not how I envisioned this afternoon going. “I have a family thing to go to today, and I was trying to call or text you to ask if you wanted to join me, but obviously, you don’t. You don’t even want to talk to me.”
“Breathe.” I lean in and kiss her forehead, my chest aching at the thought of hurting her feelings. But she pushes me away and walks right back into her shop. “Anastasia—”
“I’m not going to have this conversation on the sidewalk.”
“It feels like an argument to me.”
“I’m not doing that either.” She sets her bags on a table and whirls on me, fire burning in her bright blue eyes. “I’m not a needy woman, Kane. I’m not clingy. Hell, in the past, I haven’t even been particularly affectionate. Ask Amelia, she’s constantly trying to cuddle me, and I tell her to get lost.”
She takes a deep breath but continues without missing a beat. “And I know you needed a little breathing room after the past week so you could concentrate on work, and that’s not a problem for me.”
“Feels like a problem.”
“But I tried to call, and you didn’t answer, and that’s so damn frustrating!”
“You know I’m horrible with the phone.”
“Well, you were doing better. You were charging it in case I called, remember?”
I wince. “Aye, I remember. And it’s sorry I am that I hurt your feelings.”
“Oh, don’t just turn up that sexy accent and think you can get out of this one, buddy.”
“Now my bleeding voice pisses you off?”
“Pretty much.” She props her hands on her hips, her breaths coming fast. If looks could kill, I’d be a bloody mess. “Did you spend the past forty-eight hours not even sparing me a single thought?”
And that’s all I can take. I advance on her, not touching her but cornering her against the counter. “I’ve thought of little else, truth be told.”
“Well, you could have fooled me.”
“Stay here.”
I turn and walk back to my car, fetch the box from the back seat, and return to find Anastasia pacing.
“Open the box.”
She narrows her eyes on the container, and then on me.
“Open the damn box, Anastasia.”
She does as I ask, and when she pulls the bowls out of the paper and bubble wrap, her round eyes find mine.
“What is this?”
“Mixing bowls,” I inform her with a proud grin. There are three different colors—teal, pink, and yellow. Happy colors that remind me of Anastasia. “For your kitchen. I made a few sizes, but if you need something else, just—”
“Kane O’Callaghan made me mixing bowls?”
She hugs the middle-sized bowl to her chest as if it’s a baby that’s going to be ripped from her arms.
“He did.” I shove my hands into my pockets, suddenly feeling vulnerable. Does her reaction mean that she doesn’t like them? “I was working on them when the news of Joey came, and it was driving me nuts that I couldn’t finish them. I knew I would make them for you after I saw your kitchen for the first time. You seem to prefer glass bowls.”
“I love glass bowls,” she whispers, still holding the bowl. “But, Kane, I can’t use these. What if I drop one and it breaks? These are works of art. They’re priceless.”