Page 98 of The Best Thing He Never Wanted

“Still.” He held her gaze, his lips twitching in that familiar little war with a smile.

Except, she suddenly realized, she hadn’t seen him fighting the smiles nearly as much these last few days. They came more easily now. Even his laughter did.

“It’s a kitchen utensil,” she told him. “Not a weapon. Here, I’ll put it back if you think it’s silly.”

He pulled it out of reach before she could take it from him, then held it up to the woman behind the stall. “How much?”

“You don’t need to do that, Blane,” Bea protested.

“I know.” He looked down at her. “But you wanted it until I started joking about it; I’m not going to be the reason you don’t get something you want.”

That shut her up. She watched while he paid. The woman smiled at Bea as she wrapped the pestle and mortar and placed it carefully in a bag.

“Efcharistó,” Bea said.

“Parakaló.”

As they walked away, Bea noticed Blane was scowling again. “What’s the matter now?”

He chuckled. “Nothing. Trying to figure out that parakaló thing. Efcharistó is thank you, right?”

“That’s right.”

“And parakaló is…” His brows drew together. “Sometimes it sounds like you’re welcome, but you use it when you mean please.”

“That’s because I do.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “So, it means you’re welcome, but you use it when you mean please?”

“No, Blane. It means both.”

His frown deepened. “I don’t get it.”

“You don’t need to. You just have to learn it and use it. That’s the way language works, I think.”

“If you say so.” Something else caught his attention. He took her hand and led her toward another stall a little farther down.

She hadn’t expected they’d actually find cushions here, but within a few minutes she’d found the perfect ones for the little stone bench.

“Oh, there’s no need,” she said as Blane reached for his wallet again.

“I know there’s no need.”

She didn’t see it very often, but whenever he smirked like that, it was incredibly sexy.

“Someone much smarter than me told me recently that just because you don’t need something doesn’t mean you can’t want it.”

That fizzy feeling rippled through her chest again as he held her gaze. She wanted to believe he meant what she thought he did. But as he turned to pay for the cushions, she let out a little sigh. Because it didn’t really matter what he meant. Whatever he wanted or needed—and whatever she wanted or needed, for that matter—didn’t change the one thing neither of them seemed willing to talk about.

In just over a week, he’d be leaving.

Chapter Eighteen

Blane had the coffee ready by the time Bea came downstairs on Sunday morning. She came to him, rested her hand in the middle of his chest, and pressed a kiss to his lips.

“Thank you. I’m ready if you want to go.”

He handed her a mug. “It’s okay. There’s no big rush. Drink your coffee. Want to sit outside with it?”