Page 111 of After You Returned

I shrug. “Was it hard to find?”

“You hid the entire toolbox in a box under the bed labeled tax documents.”

I scratch my beard. “I did? Doesn’t sound like me.”

She snorts. “It totally sounds like you. And I sure as mermaid didn’t label a box tax documents.”

I cringe. “No. You put your tax documents in a plastic bag and then dump them at your accountant with a smile. I can’t believe she hasn’t quit yet.”

“She loves a challenge.”

“No one loves a challenge that much.”

“Whatever. We’ve established you hid the tools from me.” She wags the screwdriver at me. “Never again, surfer boy. Never again.”

“I can agree to not hide the tools.” Throwing them away isn’t hiding, right? “If you tell me why you’ve got the screwdriver out again.”

“It’s not a big deal. One of the stove knobs is loose. I’m fixing it.”

Her stove is gas. My heart lodges in my throat. I rush to the stove. “What have you done? Did you call the fire department already?”

“You are such a drama queen. We don’t need the fire department. I’m merely disassembling the knob to tighten it.”

I snatch the screwdriver from her. “No, you’re not. You could accidentally open the gas valve too far or crack the plastic housing, causing a gas leak.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m not going to cause a gas leak. It’s a little knob. No big deal.”

“Which is what you said about the cabinet light, the wobbly ceiling fan, the blender. Need I go on?”

“You make it sound as if my place is falling apart.”

“Blaze, your place is falling apart.” I throw the screwdriver on the counter before grasping her hands. “Why don’t you move into my house?”

She drops her chin to her chest but not before I notice the scowl. Does she hate my place? She prefers to stay at her place but I thought she just wanted to have her stuff close by.

I pinch her chin and lift her head until she meets my gaze. “What?”

“What? What?”

“Don’t try to bullshit a bullshitter. It’ll never work.”

She blows a raspberry. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings.”

“Do you love me?”

“Of course, I do.”

I smile. “Then, nothing you can say will hurt my feelings.”

“Don’t be too sure,” she mutters.

I drag her to the living room and sit on the sofa before drawing her onto my lap. She straddles me with a huff.

“Why are you huffing? You enjoy this position.” I waggle my eyebrows.

“Because sitting down means this is a serious conversation, and I seriously don’t want to hurt your feelings.”

I palm her neck and lean my forehead against hers. “I told you, Blaze. You can’t hurt my feelings as long as your love for me hasn’t died.”