"So I'll try again later."
"And later again if that's what it takes." She leaned against the counter beside him and sipped the steaming coffee. "He just needs time to assimilate everything."
Daniel nodded.
Of its own will, her hand fell to rest on his upper arm. "I thought you did well in a situation that stinks no matter which way you look at it."
Muscles flexed beneath her touch. Her fingers itched to explore the broadened width of his shoulders. Silence echoed but for the hiss of the coffeemaker and more yearning zipping back and forth. The chill of tile floor seeped into her bare feet while the heat of his arm seared her fingers.
She jerked her hand away. Don't get involved. They needed to make their own way.
And emotions hurt.
Daniel scooped an open Pop-Tart box off the counter. Five seconds later he was slathering peanut butter on top of the purple-and-white-swirled frosting. She quelled a wince.
He chewed through a bite before cutting a glance her way. "Aren't you going to suggest eggs and wheat toast or shove me out of the way so you can whip up something healthy?"
"Daniel, you're thirty-two years old. If you want to eat chocolate frosting on your bagel for breakfast, that's your business."
"So you're not going to try to fix me or bake a casserole."
Confusion cut through the need to lick the peanut butter from the corner of his mouth. "Why would I want to do that?"
"Never mind." He jammed the rest of his breakfast in his mouth and washed it down with a swig of coffee. "I should get moving. Thank you for staying. This morning is crazy enough without worrying about rounding up a baby-sitter."
Guilt swirled through her passion like the mix of that peanut butter through the frosting. She was using him every bit as much as he was using her. Except she wasn't being straight-up honest with him.
For the best, right? Then he wouldn't get hurt trying to sort her mess.
He opened a drawer, withdrawing a notepad and pen. "I appreciate that you let me reason through how to handle Trey."
She blinked away her surprise at his perception of her motives.
He thrust the pad and pen toward her. "But I could still use your input on their routine and those EpiPen things. Could you start a list of the factual stuff?"
She eyed the pen and paper. There'd once been a time she never went anywhere without a notebook handy for capturing the flood of words always ready to pour from her mind through her fingertips.
Written words trickled from her muse in short supply these days.
He waggled the small pad. "I won't impose on you forever. Just long enough to get through settling the boys."
A list. He wanted a simple list from her, not a creative writing essay or editorial or, God forbid, a story.
She gripped the edge of the pad without touching him
"Thank you." He held firm, linking them through a silly little pad of paper with Gravity Sucks printed through an image of a crashing plane. "How weird is it that I have people I spoke to just last week, friends and old girlfriends who I should be calling to pitch in here. But yet here we are."
"I know the boys." She tried to explain away the connection with the logic Danny so valued. Fat lot of good it did her.
The silence swelled between them, filled with the knowledge that their connection was more. Would it always be like this for them?
She studied the stitches, pockets, zippers along his flight suit as if the different clothing might help convince her this was a different man from the one she'd loved years ago. Her gaze traveled across his chest, to the strong column of his throat.
Her hand inched to the neck of his flight suit where the black T-shirt peeked free. With one finger she traced the raised seam of his inside-out shirt, a sight all too familiar. "I never thought to ask why you do this?"
Brown eyes deepened from milk chocolate to an intense, darker flavor no less enticing. "Do what?"
"Wear your T-shirts inside out. You've always done it and I never thought to ask you why before. It was just a part of the Danny picture that I accepted."