wrapped her arms more tightly around it.
"I said you didn't have to do this. I can do it myself."
"No, I don't, and no, you can't. So let's do ourselves a favor and get it done while we're young." He simply yanked the box out of her arms, loaded it. "Get in."
"I don't want—"
"You're being an idiot. I've got your stuff," he continued as he rounded the hood. "You can get in and ride with it, or you can walk."
She'd have preferred the second option, but that would make her a moron as well as an idiot. She got in, gave the door an irritated slam shut. And not caring, particularly, about his comfort, opened the window so she didn't feel closed in.
He said nothing, and since the radio was blasting out Red Hot Chili Peppers, she didn't have to pretend to make polite conversation on the short drive.
He parked on the street, then got out to drag a box out one side of the car while she pulled one from the other. " The entrance is around back." Her voice was clipped, surprising her. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been seriously annoyed with anyone other than herself.
She had to lengthen her stride so she didn't trail behind him. and though she breezed by him on the stairs, she tumbled when she had to prop the box against the wall in order to deal with the key.
Brody simply shifted the box he held to one arm, took the key, unlocked the door.
A fresh wave of resentment washed through her. This was her place-now. She should be able to invite in whom she liked, and keep out whom she didn't. And here he was striding across the floor to dump her box of precious new possessions on the counter.
Then he was striding out again, without one comment. On a huff of breath, Reece set her box down. She dashed to the door and out, hoping to catch him and take the last load herself.
Rut he was already starting back.
"I'll take it from here." The breeze blew her hair across her face. She gave it an annoyed swipe back. "Thanks."
"I've got it. What the hell's in here? Bricks?"
"It's probably the cast-iron skillet, and the cleaning supplies. I can get it, really."
He simply ignored her and climbed the steps. "Why the hell did you lock the door when we were coming right back""
"Habit." She turned the key, but before she could shift to reach for the box, he'd pushed by to take it in himself.
"Well, thanks." She stood beside the open door, knowing it was not only rude, but that she was letting in cold air. "Sorry for the imposition."
"Uh-huh." He turned a circle, hands in his pockets now. Small, depressing space, he thought, until you took in the view. It was all about the view. And it was clean, that would be Joanie's doing. Empty or not, she'd have banished anv dust or cobwebs regularly.
"Could use some fresh paint," he commented.
"I suppose."
"And some frigging heat. You'll freeze those bird bones of yours in here."
"No point in turning up the heat until I move in tomorrow. I don't want to hold you up."
He turned back, aimed those eyes at her. "You're not worried about holding me up, you just want me out."
"Okay. Bye."
For the first time, he gave her a quick, genuine smile. "You're more interesting when you've got a little bite to you. What's the special tonight?"
"Fried chicken, parsley potatoes, peas and carrots."
"Sounds good." He strolled to the door, stopped directly in front of her. He swore he could almost hear her body brace. "See you around."
The door closed quietly behind him, and the lock snicked before he'd gone down the first step. He circled the building and, to satisfy his curiosity, looked up when he reached the front.
She was standing at the center window, staring out at the lake. Slim as a willow stem, he thought, with windblown hair and deep, secret eyes. He thought she looked more like a portrait in a frame than flesh and blood. And he wondered just where she'd left the rest of herself. And why.
SPRING THAW meant mud. Trails and paths went soft and thick with it, and caked boots left it
"I said you didn't have to do this. I can do it myself."
"No, I don't, and no, you can't. So let's do ourselves a favor and get it done while we're young." He simply yanked the box out of her arms, loaded it. "Get in."
"I don't want—"
"You're being an idiot. I've got your stuff," he continued as he rounded the hood. "You can get in and ride with it, or you can walk."
She'd have preferred the second option, but that would make her a moron as well as an idiot. She got in, gave the door an irritated slam shut. And not caring, particularly, about his comfort, opened the window so she didn't feel closed in.
He said nothing, and since the radio was blasting out Red Hot Chili Peppers, she didn't have to pretend to make polite conversation on the short drive.
He parked on the street, then got out to drag a box out one side of the car while she pulled one from the other. " The entrance is around back." Her voice was clipped, surprising her. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been seriously annoyed with anyone other than herself.
She had to lengthen her stride so she didn't trail behind him. and though she breezed by him on the stairs, she tumbled when she had to prop the box against the wall in order to deal with the key.
Brody simply shifted the box he held to one arm, took the key, unlocked the door.
A fresh wave of resentment washed through her. This was her place-now. She should be able to invite in whom she liked, and keep out whom she didn't. And here he was striding across the floor to dump her box of precious new possessions on the counter.
Then he was striding out again, without one comment. On a huff of breath, Reece set her box down. She dashed to the door and out, hoping to catch him and take the last load herself.
Rut he was already starting back.
"I'll take it from here." The breeze blew her hair across her face. She gave it an annoyed swipe back. "Thanks."
"I've got it. What the hell's in here? Bricks?"
"It's probably the cast-iron skillet, and the cleaning supplies. I can get it, really."
He simply ignored her and climbed the steps. "Why the hell did you lock the door when we were coming right back""
"Habit." She turned the key, but before she could shift to reach for the box, he'd pushed by to take it in himself.
"Well, thanks." She stood beside the open door, knowing it was not only rude, but that she was letting in cold air. "Sorry for the imposition."
"Uh-huh." He turned a circle, hands in his pockets now. Small, depressing space, he thought, until you took in the view. It was all about the view. And it was clean, that would be Joanie's doing. Empty or not, she'd have banished anv dust or cobwebs regularly.
"Could use some fresh paint," he commented.
"I suppose."
"And some frigging heat. You'll freeze those bird bones of yours in here."
"No point in turning up the heat until I move in tomorrow. I don't want to hold you up."
He turned back, aimed those eyes at her. "You're not worried about holding me up, you just want me out."
"Okay. Bye."
For the first time, he gave her a quick, genuine smile. "You're more interesting when you've got a little bite to you. What's the special tonight?"
"Fried chicken, parsley potatoes, peas and carrots."
"Sounds good." He strolled to the door, stopped directly in front of her. He swore he could almost hear her body brace. "See you around."
The door closed quietly behind him, and the lock snicked before he'd gone down the first step. He circled the building and, to satisfy his curiosity, looked up when he reached the front.
She was standing at the center window, staring out at the lake. Slim as a willow stem, he thought, with windblown hair and deep, secret eyes. He thought she looked more like a portrait in a frame than flesh and blood. And he wondered just where she'd left the rest of herself. And why.
SPRING THAW meant mud. Trails and paths went soft and thick with it, and caked boots left it
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