“Bottle of wine over there.” Lance nodded his head to the table since he was still busy. I knew he was busy, because after I’d put the potatoes in the oven, I was not. Usually, I hated to be idle, especially when I was idle in my own kitchen while someone else was cooking.
But I was okay with idle since it meant I could give Lance my full attention. Or more specifically Lance’s biceps and forearms my attention. Because they were sinewy. Pure muscle. Pure power. I could take an educated guess and say they were used to inflict violence. That should have scared me, all things considered. But it made me feel safe. Especially since those powerful, dangerous arms were currently being used for the domestic task of cooking in my frickin’ kitchen.
“Elena.”
My name caused my eyes to jerk up and find Lance’s. Shit. Caught. I swallowed roughly. “Wine.” He nodded his head again. “Wanna open it?”
I looked from him to the table where there was an indeed a bottle of wine, the offending thirty-dollar wine that was delicious.
Again, I automatically obeyed the question that was actually a command.
It wasn’t until I had my corkscrew in hand and was staring at the elegant and simple label did I regain proper brain function.
So instead of opening the wine, I turned to look at Lance’s back. Tried not to get distracted by how wide it was, how I could see the sculpted ridges of his shoulders underneath his tee.
I obviously failed at that.
“We need to talk about the wine,” I said, remembering the party, my anger, and the ensuing chaos that distracted me from talking to Lance about this earlier.
His shoulders stopped moving.
“We don’t,” he said without turning.
All fond feelings I had toward him for buying this food, for cooking it, for having great shoulders and forearms, they all went out the window with the cold voice that thought it could order me around.
“I know you’re used to deciding things and them being so because you’re…” I trailed off trying to think of the appropriate adjective. “You,” I finished lamely. “But it’s not gonna fly with me. So even though you’ve made this sweet and very kind gesture of cooking for me and buying the food and the expensive wine, it’s not gonna negate me being able to speak up about something that bothers me.” I was very proud of the fact I said that and my voice was sharp and strong.
Lance paused a beat after I’d finished speaking, then he turned.
“Straight up, Elena, thirty bucks isn’t expensive for a bottle of wine,” he said.
Wrong thing to say.
I gritted my teeth and put my hand on my hip in a gesture that I was sure even a badass like Lance might be able to take as a warning. “It is to me,” I said through my gritted teeth. “And yeah, I get that a thirty-dollar bottle of wine is nothing to a lot of people. Maybe most people. Definitely people who work for fancy security firms in the city, drive nice vehicles and wear kick-ass clothes,” I hissed, hating that I was complimenting him when I was trying to tell him off. “But to this person” —I pointed at my chest— “the single mom who has a kid to raise, to clothe, to feed, to fund his college tuition, to pay for whatever sport he decides to play, and to start building a savings fund for my house in the country with my chickens, dogs and goats—only if I can make the dog and the goat friends—then yes, thirty bucks for a bottle of wine that I don’t need is a lot of money.” I narrowed my eyes at Lance as his jaw ticked ever so slightly in an expression that might have passed for amusement. And as great as it was that the robot was capable of being amused, I didn’t want it to be right now.
“I decide I don’t want to spend thirty bucks on wine, that’s my decision,” I continued, voice sharper and firmer than before, bolstered by a need to scrounge up some pride. “My decision as an adult, and as a mother. Despite this, despite the shit that I have to keep up with in my life, the son I have to provide for, I also want to provide for my friends. To repay people that do shit for me. Do shit like save my kid. That treat me with kindness. That go above and beyond the call of duty for us.” I gave a pointed look at the food behind him. “You took that away from me at the supermarket,” I said, voice quieter. “The ability to do that. I know you were trying to help in your badass, ‘I take control of everything’ kind of way, and sure, I dig it. But not when it comes to stuff like that.”