“I’m not talking to you,” I tell Dayton, stepping through the door into the kitchen when I hear the tinkle of a tiny bell. Going to the pantry, I find PJ sitting next to Dallas’s empty food bowl with an obviously guilty look on his adorable face.

“Seriously?” I sigh. I should have remembered to put Dallas’s cat food up when I got here, but I didn’t, and I’m sure PJ ate it all. “Come on, brat.” I pick him up and turn to leave the pantry but run right into Dayton.

“We need to talk.”

“Not right now.” I scoot around him.

“Francisca,” he clips, and I spin to face him.

“I don’t want to say something I might regret, Dayton, so give me a little time.”

“Fine.” He walks toward me and takes PJ. “But I’m driving you home.”

Not wanting to argue, I follow him out of the house to his SUV that is parked around the curve in the driveway and hurry my steps to pass him so I can open my door for myself, which results in him making a sound in the back of his throat. Handing me PJ once I’m seated, he stares at me for a long moment before he sighs and shuts my door. I put on my seat belt, then drag in a breath as I watch him walk around the hood.

The drive is silent, tension-filled, and absolutely uncomfortable. I hate it, hate every single second that I’m stuck in the cab of his SUV, breathing in his scent, while denying myself the normalcy of reaching over and touching him or having his hand on my thigh, where he always has it when he’s driving.

I’m so mad at him.

No, that’s not true. I’m not mad; I’m hurt. My chest physically aches, because while I’ve been happy in this new place with him—where we’re getting to know each other as more than just friends—he’s obviously thought about us getting married. But not with some romantic notion in mind, where he knows that I’m the one and he can’t imagine life without me. No, he’s thought about it, because it would be smart and easier.

What does that even mean?

I want to ask, but I know that anything I say right now will come out all wrong, and I don’t want to make things worse. I also don’t want to fight with him, and with my emotions already so heightened, I know that I need to tread carefully.

When we get to our block, and he parks, I unhook my seat belt and start to reach for the door handle.