“I just did! You weren’t listening on the phone, so I had to come here in person to—”
“Bullshit. You made a twenty-minute drive—”
“That took over an hour.”
“—in this weather carting cold Thanksgiving dinner and my favorite pie. Don’t tell me you came all this way to put me in my place.”
Her pink tongue touched lips painted cranberry red to match her sweater. He knew too well that unlike the tart fruit, she tasted as sweet as honey.
“I thought you’d appreciate it.”
“I do. But that doesn’t explain why you’re here.”
She shrugged with one dark eyebrow and tightened plush lips he’d kissed more times than he could recall. He’d made every attempt to kiss the sunshine off her skin that summer. Back then he could’ve buried his nose in her coconut-scented hair and never come up for air.
Until reality had intruded.
“I tried to invite you to dinner at my family’s house so you wouldn’t have to eat alone,” she huffed.
“So I’m the equivalent of a stray dog in need of a bone.” He spread his arms to indicate the expansive room in which he was standing. “Do I look like I can’t fend for myself?”
“You said no!” she practically shouted.
“As was my prerogative.”
What was she up to? He kept his voice even, his tone neutral. He’d been yelled at by a great number of people in his career, and it was his second nature to tamp down any emotions that didn’t lead to an effective solution.
The line of her mouth softened. Her eyebrows lowered. Naked vulnerability bled into her expression.
Then he figured it out. It slapped him upside the head, jarring his brain.
I’m an idiot.
“I hurt your feelings,” he stated. Could he have been more obtuse? “That’s why you’re here.”
She made a pfft sound but he was right. He could tell by the way she shifted her weight onto one boot—almost squirming in his presence. Some things about Mimi had changed in the last ten years, but some things hadn’t. She was the same stubborn, beautiful, hopeful woman he’d made love to back then, but with an even sturdier backbone and harder head. She brought him Thanksgiving dinner tonight not because he was a charity case but because—
“It bothered you to picture me eating alone,” he told her.
“Why would I care about a pompous, overblown—”
“Admit it.”
He heard a deep sucking sound as she pulled in a lungful of oxygen.
“Fine,” she blew out on an exhale. “I was sitting in front of a dressed turkey thinking that if you weren’t such a stubborn jackass, you would’ve been there enjoying the spoils of a home-cooked meal. Rare in your case, as I recall.”
It was true. Eleanor Ferguson didn’t cook. She catered.
“I took it upon myself to deliver both dinner and a message, planning to turn and drive straight back to my family’s house knowing that you were both fed and informed.” A crease appeared between her brows. “Only now I’ll be heading to my apartment instead of back for dessert with my family.”
He could see and feel the regret coming off her. The expression didn’t erase the elegance of her features, and accentuated the firmer, straighter line of her backbone. She was a confusing whirlwind of attributes, but Chase saw through her air of confidence. She couldn’t hide behind the one quality she’d never possessed: ambivalence.
Mimi had never been ambivalent or calloused to the needs of others. No matter how badly they’d treated her in the past.
“Tell me more about what you do,” he said, turning to lift the lids of the containers.
“What I do?”