There was a counter topped with glass, displaying purses and scarves beneath. But more importantly there was a water cooler standing at the end and it was three-quarters full. Oh, yes.

When Nick strode back in she was covered only in goose bumps, busy washing herself as fast as humanly possible with soap from the drugstore and a hand-cloth fresh off the shelf. He stopped dead and stared at her br**sts. Suddenly being cold didn’t seem to matter so much.

“What are you doing?” he said, sounding like something choked him.

“Washing. You?”

He said nothing, just continued to stare.

“Give it a rest, Nick. You’ve seen it all before.”

His gaze jumped to hers and his face heated. He could blush. Who knew? She’d have laughed, but her teeth were chattering and it wasn’t really a laughing kind of day. Besides, laughing would probably lead to crying and she needed to keep her shit together.

His jaw did some strange side-to-side thing. Suddenly he got busy on the other side of the room with his back to her. But she hadn’t missed the bulge in his pants.

She’d quickly brushed her teeth and hair while he’d been looking out back, but this bathing felt like a whole new level of lovely. She’d cleaned her scratched-up hands, gotten the worst of the dirt and sweat from her body. The bruises on her knuckles from punching Neil had faded. Impossible to believe he’d died, busted nose and all. He’d been a wanker, but he hadn’t deserved that.

Nick stood over by the neatly folded stack of jeans. He selected and discarded, then he moved onto men’s shirts. His back remained to her at all times. The man was dedicated.

She’d started rubbing herself down with a towel when he dumped a selection of clothes on the counter beside her.

“Those should fit,” he said.

A pair of jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, and some matching underwear in plain black cotton. Funny, he’d always been about the silk and lace before. And there were some racier alternatives available. She’d seen them. “Thank you, but I can choose my own clothes.”

Another grunt. His eyes stayed elsewhere at all times. Screw him. He wasn’t making her feel awkward in her own skin. A skin that, until yesterday, he’d been all too keen to jump.

She yawned so hard her jaw cracked. “Excuse me.”

“You didn’t sleep well last night.”

“I didn’t?” It had been a bit cold and uncomfortable, but still.

“No, you woke up a couple of times crying about your friends at the school.”

“I did?” Huh. She had no memory of it.

“Yeah, I talked to you and you went back to sleep.” He shrugged.

For a moment she just studied the unattractive industrial carpet and searched for something to say. He’d chased away her bad dreams and she didn’t even remember it. Mad at her or not, he cared for her and held her when she cried.

And yet, the chain … there was always the damn chain to remember. “Thank you,” she said.

“Your friends died. You had reason.” He wandered off toward the range of sturdy-looking work boots, grabbing a backpack or two on his way. “Besides, you’re a pretty restless sleeper. I’m used to it.”

How long had it been? Five nights? And he was used to it. Used to her waking and used to soothing her back to sleep. Used to doing for her. When was the last time someone had shown the least predilection for caring for her? She couldn’t remember. Whatever weirdness lay between them needed sorting, now.

“Nick?”

He turned and his gaze dropped to her boobs before shooting back to her face. She could have covered herself with an arm but she didn’t. Rattling Nick made her feel good.

“Mm?”

“Aren’t you going to wash up too?” First thing to come to mind. Hygiene was the best she had. How sad.

His mouth opened but he didn’t speak straight away. “Later.”

He about-faced and strode back toward the selection of boots. There was a whole wall full of them.

He was still mad at her, obviously. The thing was, while she’d started off angry, she got it. He hadn’t told her about her friends out of compassion. She didn’t like it, but she understood. Him choosing her clothes, however, amply displayed he needed to learn how to let her make her own decisions. But he cared and she couldn’t deny it. She also couldn’t deny she’d chosen to be with him. It would have been nice to have ignored the facts, but grown-ups didn’t do that. Or they shouldn’t.

Sex-wise in the kitchen, and then again when she made the decision to turn back on the driveway, she’d chosen him. Then, when she’d needed him, when it was life or death, he’d come through for her.

“It wasn’t because we had sex,” she said.

His whole body flinched and his hand stopped mid-motion, stretched toward a set of black work boots. “Let’s just … let’s just get sorted. Alright?”

“That’s what I’m trying to do. I turned back because I chose you.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Yeah, I know. But we’re going to.”

He turned to look at her, his eyes stark. He strode toward her and if she’d had a whit of sense she would have been scared. But she wasn’t. No way would he hurt her. Nick didn’t stop until they were toe-to-toe and he loomed over her like a storm waiting to break. The hollows of his cheeks and the tense lines beside his fine lips. The look in his eyes. No one looked at her like he did, whether he was angry or happy or anything in between. It scared her and seduced her equally.