“All clear,” he said. “I’ll take the dog out. ”

“He’s my dog. ”

“And I don’t want you outside alone,” he said.

“Fine. Come with. ” Bryn clipped the leash onto Mr. French’s collar. “It’s a nice night for a walk, right?”

McCallister clearly didn’t like the idea, but he didn’t argue the point. Together, they walked the dog down the stairs and out to the grassy area on the other side of the parking lot. It was the common pet-walking area, and Bryn had brought her poop bags; Mr. French did his business; she cleaned it up. It was all very normal except that she had a solid male shadow who kept watching the shadows as if waiting for an army of ninja assassins to appear.

The only thing that happened was that a rat scrabbled out of the trash container and raced across the parking lot, making Mr. French bark and lunge to the end of his leash. Bryn struggled to hold on to him; he had a lot of muscle packed into his small body.

“Let’s get back in,” McCallister said. His body language was almost as tense as the dog’s, and Bryn finally surrendered and let Mr. French drag her back partway on the rat’s trail before she tugged him toward the apartment stairs. He went willingly enough, confident he’d driven off the invader, and by the time they were back inside, locked in, he stretched out and looked supremely self-satisfied.

McCallister checked the apartment again.

“We should eat something,” he said, coming back to find her still on the couch with the dog.

/> “I could call out for pizza. ”

“No deliveries. It’s not safe. ”

“Oh, come on, it’s pizza. ”

“And if someone wanted to get to you, and me, it’s easy enough to doctor a pizza. No. We make something here. ”

Bryn scratched the bulldog’s ears. “Okay, well, I hope you’re one of those amazing cooks who can make a feast out of two dried cranberries and a lemon, because that’s about all I have. ”

McCallister looked at her in complete bafflement, as if she were making some kind of an obscure joke, and then checked the fridge. He stared a moment, then let the door swing closed. He repeated the exercise in the pantry, and pulled out a moldy half loaf of bread, which he threw out, and finally an open package of crackers and a peanut-butter jar.

“You don’t cook,” he said.

“Are you sure you’re not Sherlock Holmes? Because the way you notice subtle clues …”

“I thought everyone was capable of cooking at least a can of soup. How do you survive? Not on pizza. ”

“They also deliver spaghetti, and sub sandwiches. And Chinese food. ”

McCallister shook his head and sat down across from her with the crackers and peanut butter and a butter knife. He handed her a paper plate, which was the only kind she owned. Mr. French stood up, curiously examining the peanut-butter jar until Bryn shooed him off the couch. He obediently sat down, staring at the two of them, and the peanut-butter jar, from a different angle, and doing his best to convey that he was, in fact, starving.

Bryn ate in silence, casting glances at McCallister from time to time; chewing crackers and sticky peanut butter didn’t make for much conversation. By the end, though, the silence had begun to feel oppressive, and as Bryn swallowed the last of what was clearly a highly inadequate meal, she thought she ought to at least try to be social. “Thanks,” she said. “For, ah, making this. ”

He gave her a trace of a smile and took her empty plate into the kitchen, along with the rest of the crackers and peanut butter. While he was in there, he opened a couple of other cabinets, apparently looking for a second course. Which wasn’t there, Bryn almost told him; she’d been out of everything, planning to make a run to the store for at least a few basic things. He must have decided that the saltshaker didn’t have much potential, because he began to walk around the apartment, checking the view out the windows.

“I’ll take the couch,” he said, still not looking directly at her. “It’d be nice if you had an extra pillow, but it’s not required. ”

“I’m not that bad. I have an extra pillow. And a blanket. ”

“One the dog hasn’t slept on?”

She blushed. “Come on, am I that horrible?”

McCallister glanced in her direction and, for the first time, allowed the look to linger. It was almost … human. “No,” he said. “You’re not. ”

“Coming from you, that’s nearly a compliment. ” Bryn swallowed hard, suddenly feeling the pressure of tears growing behind her eyes. “I’m not feeling anything but horrible lately. Like an alien in someone else’s skin. ”

“I can understand that,” he said. He hadn’t looked away from her, and she felt that spark of warmth take hold between them. “What you’ve been through … But you’re still an attractive woman, Bryn, if you have any doubt of that. ”

“That was definitely a compliment. ”

Tags: Rachel Caine Revivalist Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net