Sugar on Top Read Online Free PDF Page B

huddled around the vent, rubbing her hands back and forth.
    “There’s some coffee in that thermos.” He pointed his chin to the lunch pail at her feet. “You’re welcome to it.”
    “You sure?” She was eyeing it like if he said no, she’d die of frostbite.
    “It’s all yours. I can fill it up when I get to the work site.”
    She picked up the thermos, her hands a little unsteady as she undid the top and moaned at the bittersweet scent filling up the cab of the truck. She eyed him over the steam rising from the cup. “Hazelnut and vanilla? Surprised the guys at the site don’t make you turn in your man-card.”
    Cal ignored her. Partly because he didn’t care what she thought—one sip and she’d know it was a damn fine cup of coffee. But mostly he kept his mouth shut because his men had taken to calling him Princess ever since his daughter, Payton, had turned him on to lattes.
    Glory took a tentative sip and then a big swallow. “God, this is good.”
    “I would offer you my lunch, but seeing as Payton made it, it comes with a warning.” He slid her a sidelong glance. “Eat at your own risk.”
    “It can’t be that bad.” Suppressing a grin, he watched Glory bend over and take out the wrapped breakfast cake. She poked it a few times, took a tentative sniff, a bite, then made a gagging noise and put it back.
    “Care to change your answer?”
    “No,” she said, taking another hearty sip, most likely to wash down the cake.
    “Because that would mean admitting I was right?”
    She gave a cute little shrug and went back to gulping down his coffee. When her fingers were no longer purple and her chattering teeth had quieted to white noise, he heard himself ask, “So want to talk about what happened last night?”
    So much for his idea to get in and get out and not get involved.
    “Nope.”
    “You sure?” Not that he wanted to talk about it, but her hands were still trembling slightly and those dark bruises under her eyes advertised more than just a lack of sleep. She looked chewed up and spit out and talking was what women did in these situations. Correction, talking was what women did. Period.
    She gave him a long look. “You want to talk about that big-ass peach-colored dent in your truck?”
    “Fair enough,” he said, a little shocked, and went back to staring out the windshield in utter silence.
    After a few more blocks of listening to the wipers squeak across the glass, he became twitchy. Watching the clapboard-siding storefronts fly by without so much as a word from her made him worried. Maybe she was more upset than she was letting on.
    Telling himself that he was just being neighborly, Cal came to the Brett McGraw Highway, and even though both ways were clear, the truck crawled to a stop, and resting his arms on the back of the bench, he looked over, letting her know that he was in no rush—that if she needed to talk it out, he was her guy.
    “Glory,” he gently nudged like he would when trying to pry something out of Payton, only Glory just looked at him—for a long time.
    “Oh,” she finally said, her hand coming up to flutter in front of her mouth.
    Yup , Cal thought, settling in for the duration, here it comes . The rain and lack of building inspector meant that his day was blown to hell, so he made sure his body was relaxed and giving off the “you take all the time you need” vibe.
    “Right, um, I just assumed,” she faded off, looking a little lost. And how could he blame her, she’d had a pretty rough night. “Well, I live about a mile west. Right off Old Mill Road.”
    She pointed and then went back to staring out the window.
    Cal blinked. Then choked a little before pointing the car west. That had never happened before. The women in his life lived to fill the silence. They couldn’t help themselves. In fact, Cal hadn’t had a quiet meal in over fifteen years. Not Glory, though , he thought as he pulled onto the highway. She seemed content to just stare out the window