Page 84 of Quinton's Quest

“Fresh off the grill—I only just got here.”

“Okay.” He still continued to hold my gaze—with his intense, piercing green eyes seeing all the way into my soul. Finally, he broke eye contact. “If you’re staying, you might as well remove your coat and boots. I’ll get plates.”

Which was more words strung together than I expected. As I removed my coat and boots, he moved into the kitchen. By the time I joined him, he’d pulled the containers out of the bag. He tried to hand the bag back to me. “Later.”

He grunted.

The truth was I had about thirty cloth bags in the back of my SUV and another ten or twenty at home. Doing my part for the environment—but often forgetting to take them into the store with me. One of these days, the habit would stick. I’d be less distracted.

Right. Pull the other one.

He opened the first drink container and a hint of a smile ghosted his lips. “Cotton candy or—”

“Unicorn. Total sugar rush.” Because who didn’t need a cold milkshake on a frigid night?

He gestured to the other cup.

“Apple Pie.”

“Oh.” He furrowed his brow.

“You probably don’t want to ask.” Because if he asked me how they made a milkshake that tasted like apple pie, I wouldn’t have been able to answer. I just knew it totally tasted like apple pie.

“Right.” He removed the first food container and squinted at the handwriting.

“I don’t have a clue what any of the shorthand means. I chose plenty of things so you’ll have leftovers for days.”

His gaze shot to mine yet again.

Pure, naked pain.

My heart broke. I yearned to reach out. But I didn’t know how. We weren’t close enough for me to know what words would comfort and which might trigger a bad reaction.

Still, he opened the first container. “Fried baby shrimp.”

“With cocktail sauce.”

“Yeah.” He opened the next container and frowned.

I peeked over. “Oh, French toast connection. I got scrambled eggs because, frankly, who doesn’t love scrambled eggs?” I was certain plenty of people didn’t, but Leo had made them for me one morning last week. Why would he make them and eat them if he didn’t like them?

He pried open the next lid and, again, the ghost of a smile. “Cheeseburger?”

“Double bacon cheeseburger. Lots of cholesterol.” Given Leo’s fitness, and his lack of concern previously, I figured I was okay with this choice. “Somewhere there should be an order of Caesar salad as well as a container of poutine.”

“Because it’s not a Canadian meal if there isn’t any poutine.” He rolled his eyes.

Score!Such a small thing—but proof that maybe I could at least, for tonight, get him through this.

“Keep digging.”

He selected another large container and opened it. He arched an eyebrow.

“Rayne swears meatloaf is the best comfort food in the world. Gravy and mushrooms on the side so it didn’t get too soggy. And veggies, right?”

He nodded.

“Check the last two.”