Page 70 of Miss Understanding

“Working.” Then, because I could practically hear her eyes roll, I added, “It’s not easy for me to relax.”

“Why not?”

“I’m always thinking of what I need to do next.” I wasn’t enough, therefore I constantly push myself to do more.

“Mm. Perhaps we need another cooking lesson.”

It had been surprisingly relaxing. “If I recall, I wasn’t very good during the first round.”

“I could entice you into another round by wearing nothing but an apron.”

Damn. I was hard. “Sign me up.”

Her laughter was contagious, making me once again wish she was on her way here. But I wouldn’t ask. We chatted a few more minutes about what type of pasta we’d make next time until she said, “I just pulled into my parking lot.”

“Talk to me while you go inside. Do you live in a safe neighborhood?” It bothered me to think of her alone at this time of the morning.

“It’s not bad, although I must admit without my roommate here, I’m happy to be talking to you while walking up to my apartment.”

So was I. Not that there was a lot I could do by sitting here in my bed. Instead, I waited for the sound of her locks.

“I’m inside. All locked up.”

I let out the breath I’d been holding. Feeling protective over someone other than my family wasn’t an emotion I’d been expecting. But here it was. “Good. Glad you’re home.”

Her yawn reminded me of how exhausted she must be from the trip, her job, and not sleeping much this morning. “I know you’re tired, so I’ll let you go. Have a good day with your family tomorrow.”

“Thanks. Guess I’ll see you Monday.”

“Yeah. Monday. Bye.”

On Sunday, I lasted until six o’clock before I had to reach out to her. I rationalized we needed to talk so we could be on the same page tomorrow when it came to our first day in the office, but the truth was there. I missed her.

Sending her a text was the safest bet in case she was in the middle of something.

“You still at dinner?”

“Yep. It’s Christmas at Plum Creek. I really can’t stand Nellie Oleson. She shouldn’t have Bunny.”

I had no clue what she was talking about. “Have you been drinking?”

“Not a drop. Watching Little House on the Prairie. Bunny is Laura Ingalls’s horse. She sold her to the horrible Nellie Oleson to afford a stove for her mother for Christmas. Gets me every time.”

I couldn’t help grinning at the complete obscurity of her text message, and her thinking her explanation would make me understand better. But at least I remembered her mentioning her grandmother loved to watch this show.

“Does she get Bunny back?” It felt only right to ask, after all.

“It takes years and a bit of drama where Mrs. Oleson wants to put Bunny down because Nellie pretends to be paralyzed after she’s thrown, but yes. Eventually it has a happy ending.”

“Sounds serious.”

“You have no idea.”

I sent my next text before I could overthink it. “Do you want to come over tonight?”

Nothing came back. Shit. Was I pushing too hard too quick? Was she getting the wrong impression? I forced myself to take a deep breath. I was already far too anxious for my health.

“Sorry, was finishing up and saying goodbye. I have to take my nan back to the center, and then will be heading up. Is eight o’clock okay?”