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guessed.
Possibly. Probably. Guilt made him stiff. “By your own choice.”
“Yes. My choice. Being human pleases me.” She added deliberately, “Caleb pleases me.”
“Till death do you part,” Dylan sneered.
She tossed her head. “Better a lifetime with him than eternity without him.”
“And when you both are old, will he still please you then?”
“Yes,” she said with absolute certainty.
“How do you know?”
“Why do you care?” she shot back.
The back door slammed.
“Idiot supplier sent me iceberg,” Regina said. “Four crates of—Well.” She stopped, her gaze flicking from Dylan to Margred and back again. She set a big cardboard box on the stainless steel counter; crossed her arms. “Don’t let me interrupt.”
“You’re not interrupting,” Margred said. “I am leaving.”
The bell over the door jangled in her wake.
“Shit,” Regina said wearily. She ran her fingers through her straight, cropped hair. “I was going to ask her to give me another twenty minutes.”
62
“Why?” Dylan asked.
“Ma’s doing mayor stuff— waste committee meeting,” Regina explained. “I’m covering the dinner shift by myself. Which isn’t a problem normally, but there wasn’t room for the truck on the morning ferry, and now I’ve got to unload the delivery myself.”
She was already moving as she spoke, sliding the carton, wedging open the back door. There was no rest in her, no peace, only this slightly nervous, crackling energy. And yet for the first time all day, Dylan felt his shoulders relax.
He walked into the kitchen as she returned from the alley carrying another big box. Through the open door he could see an old white van, its rear doors open to reveal stacked crates and cartons.
“You are alone?”
“I just said so, didn’t I?” She sidestepped to avoid him.
He followed. “Where is Nick?”
“At Danny Trujillo’s, playing Ultimate Alliance. Get out of my way.”
He took the box from her instead, dumping it on the counter.
She bit her lip. “Listen—”
The front bell jingled. Regina glanced toward the door and back at him, her dilemma plain on her face.
He showed her the edge of his teeth. “Deal with it.”
The customers? Or him helping her? He wasn’t sure.
Maybe she wasn’t either, but she didn’t have much choice. She shot him a look and stalked through the swinging door. He heard her voice.
“How’s it going, Henry? What can I get you tonight?”
Dylan unloaded two more cartons while she boxed Henry’s dinner—one lasagna to go— and took an order for four lobsters, steamed, with a side of slaw.
63
She bumped a hip against the door, grabbing up the lobsters on her way to the cook top. “Thanks.” She dismissed him. “I’ll get the rest in a minute.”
Dylan ignored her. Each case of tomatoes must weigh sixty pounds.
How had she gotten them into the van in the first place? “Where does this go?”
“Walk-in refrigerator. On your left. But—”
“What’s wrong with iceberg?” he asked, to distract her.
She dropped the lobsters into boiling water. Dylan restrained a wince. “Other than being colorless, tasteless, and relatively lacking in nutritional value, not a thing.”
“Then why buy it?”
“I don’t. So either my mother did, or the supplier switched the order.”
She snapped the lids on various containers: lemon, butter, cole slaw.
By the time she rang up the lobsters, Dylan was setting the last case on the floor.
Regina blew out her breath. “Thanks. I guess I owe you.”
“I’m sure we can work out some form of payment,” he said silkily.
She snorted. “I’ll cook you dinner.”
“That’s not what I had in mind.” He moved in, trapping her against the stainless steel counter, watching awareness bloom in her big brown eyes.
“Too bad,
Possibly. Probably. Guilt made him stiff. “By your own choice.”
“Yes. My choice. Being human pleases me.” She added deliberately, “Caleb pleases me.”
“Till death do you part,” Dylan sneered.
She tossed her head. “Better a lifetime with him than eternity without him.”
“And when you both are old, will he still please you then?”
“Yes,” she said with absolute certainty.
“How do you know?”
“Why do you care?” she shot back.
The back door slammed.
“Idiot supplier sent me iceberg,” Regina said. “Four crates of—Well.” She stopped, her gaze flicking from Dylan to Margred and back again. She set a big cardboard box on the stainless steel counter; crossed her arms. “Don’t let me interrupt.”
“You’re not interrupting,” Margred said. “I am leaving.”
The bell over the door jangled in her wake.
“Shit,” Regina said wearily. She ran her fingers through her straight, cropped hair. “I was going to ask her to give me another twenty minutes.”
62
“Why?” Dylan asked.
“Ma’s doing mayor stuff— waste committee meeting,” Regina explained. “I’m covering the dinner shift by myself. Which isn’t a problem normally, but there wasn’t room for the truck on the morning ferry, and now I’ve got to unload the delivery myself.”
She was already moving as she spoke, sliding the carton, wedging open the back door. There was no rest in her, no peace, only this slightly nervous, crackling energy. And yet for the first time all day, Dylan felt his shoulders relax.
He walked into the kitchen as she returned from the alley carrying another big box. Through the open door he could see an old white van, its rear doors open to reveal stacked crates and cartons.
“You are alone?”
“I just said so, didn’t I?” She sidestepped to avoid him.
He followed. “Where is Nick?”
“At Danny Trujillo’s, playing Ultimate Alliance. Get out of my way.”
He took the box from her instead, dumping it on the counter.
She bit her lip. “Listen—”
The front bell jingled. Regina glanced toward the door and back at him, her dilemma plain on her face.
He showed her the edge of his teeth. “Deal with it.”
The customers? Or him helping her? He wasn’t sure.
Maybe she wasn’t either, but she didn’t have much choice. She shot him a look and stalked through the swinging door. He heard her voice.
“How’s it going, Henry? What can I get you tonight?”
Dylan unloaded two more cartons while she boxed Henry’s dinner—one lasagna to go— and took an order for four lobsters, steamed, with a side of slaw.
63
She bumped a hip against the door, grabbing up the lobsters on her way to the cook top. “Thanks.” She dismissed him. “I’ll get the rest in a minute.”
Dylan ignored her. Each case of tomatoes must weigh sixty pounds.
How had she gotten them into the van in the first place? “Where does this go?”
“Walk-in refrigerator. On your left. But—”
“What’s wrong with iceberg?” he asked, to distract her.
She dropped the lobsters into boiling water. Dylan restrained a wince. “Other than being colorless, tasteless, and relatively lacking in nutritional value, not a thing.”
“Then why buy it?”
“I don’t. So either my mother did, or the supplier switched the order.”
She snapped the lids on various containers: lemon, butter, cole slaw.
By the time she rang up the lobsters, Dylan was setting the last case on the floor.
Regina blew out her breath. “Thanks. I guess I owe you.”
“I’m sure we can work out some form of payment,” he said silkily.
She snorted. “I’ll cook you dinner.”
“That’s not what I had in mind.” He moved in, trapping her against the stainless steel counter, watching awareness bloom in her big brown eyes.
“Too bad,
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