The Shadows
CHAPTER TWO
After an exhaustive search of the house he found Damali in the last place he'd expected-the kitchen. Carlos came to a silent halt and watched his wife for a few precious moments before she noticed him.
He let his eyes take in the graceful curve of her back, the way her shoulder blades added contour where wings could majestically emerge when she was provoked or impassioned. Gorgeous, cinnamon-brown skin kissed by early morning light seemed too soft to even make contact with her casual getup of white sweat shorts and a wife-beater T-shirt with no bra. Barefoot, hair swept up in a ponytail of soft brown dreadlocks, and a voluptuous figure that would soon be evidence of growing life . . . the sight of her stole his breath. And she was hungry; that was a blessing.
Since the last battle, her appetite had been off. Anything edible sent her into the bathroom to secretly hurl. Keeping her symptoms from the team had been difficult. Nausea had plagued the poor woman so badly that she was actually beginning to look gaunt. At least that's what he'd thought had been the culprit until his enlightening conversation with J.L.
Carlos remained in the archway of the kitchen entrance, watching his wife bend and survey the refrigerator shelves. The sight of her luscious backside tweaked his libido, making him remember how many weeks had gone by since they'd done more than cuddle. Sure, he could have just mentally scanned the compound to find her, but he'd needed to walk and think and process what he'd learned from his Guardian brother. He reminded himself of that fact as his gaze caressed the sleek backs of her thighs.
Perhaps more important, he didn't want to connect into anyone else's vibes by touching their energy with his own. He couldn't trust the seers not to pick up his tension regarding this latest threat and begin probing, and he prayed to God that none of the negative radiation coming through the airwaves had affected the baby. But now even his and Damali's abstinence made sense-they were being poisoned through the airwaves. Maybe all of humanity was. Those facts kept his nature in check; there was important shit to attend to.
But as he basked in this brief stolen moment watching Damali without her knowing he was there, an eerie, yet soothing calm soon slid over his taut nerves, making him begin to relax. Her third-eye radar was down and her calmness fed his. She was humming a little tune that he couldn't quite place and the refrigerator door was wide-open as she stood in front of it considering her options. One graceful hand clutched a huge family-sized bag of barbecue potato chips-heresy in Marlene's camp-and the other was dug down deep in the bag up to her elbow. The sight of Damali extracting a single large chip from the bag as though she were a diamond dealer checking a precious stone for flaws, and then popping the whole thing in her mouth with a sigh, made him smile.
This was the part of her pregnancy he'd been waiting for, the part he'd imagined a hundred different ways . . . where he could be useful, where he could help. He couldn't do the heavy lifting by carrying the baby for her, but he could make the craving runs for her. He could be her personal army of one. He could take a bullet for her, hunt down and kill anything that even thought about hurting her. Hell to the yeah-he could do that. He could feed her, keep her safe, and make sure she didn't want for nothing. Could be her soldier or die trying. That would at least give him something constructive to do. He was so glad she felt better. . . . God he loved her so much.
"Marlene's gonna have a cow," he said with a chuckle, finally entering the kitchen.
Damali spun around and hid the chips behind her back, laughing.
"You're busted," he said, peeking around her back and trying to grab her contraband.
Her pretty brown eyes sparkled with mischief and her cheeks were full with what appeared to be a chipmunk's loot. She covered her mouth with one hand, chewing quickly and crunching loudly, and using her body to block him from taking her chips. "Don't tell Mar I smuggled these in," Damali finally gasped, laughing hard enough to make him laugh, too.
Carlos closed the small gap between them and hugged her, whispering in her ear while still laughing. "Your secret's safe with me, senora . . . but I'll need a bribe."
"Always a catch," Damali quipped playfully, kissing his neck, but holding her chips away from him.
Carlos cocked his head to the side. "You know where I'm originally from, girl . . . fair exchange . . ."
Damali gave him a lopsided smile and opened her bag of chips, ignoring him. "Kettle Chips . . . there's no negotiation. They're all mine," she said with a sigh. "I don't know what happened, but this morning I woke up and that's all I wanted."
"You got out of bed too early, that's why," he said, still chuckling, then giving her a wink and closing the refrigerator behind her.
"Yeah, well," she said, waving her hand at him and prancing away. She raised her eyebrows, glanced around the kitchen like a thief, and then lowered her voice. "That's how I got like this in the first place-not getting up when I should have."
They both laughed and he leaned against the refrigerator door with a shrug.
"What can I say?"
"Nothing."She placed her hand on her hip and devastated him with her megawatt smile.
"What you want to eat, baby? I'll go get it." The playfulness suddenly left his voice and was replaced by a tone so gentle she just stared at him. That seemed to cause her smile to fade into a softness that touched her eyes.
"I don't know," she said quietly. "But I love you."
He pushed off the fridge and opened his arms. She filled them and he rested his cheek against the crown of her head. She smelled wonderful, a concoction of shea butter and almond oil and barbecue chips. The satiny feel of her skin beneath his palms as he stroked her arms and the soft, velvety texture of her locks against his face made him close his eyes.
Her warmth had married his and they stood that way for what seemed like a long time; him just hugging her in the middle of the kitchen floor; her just hugging him back with a bag of chips crushed against his spine. It was Heaven on earth, a gift granted in small slivers of time between worry and fighting and sharing the planet with duty and other people. He so wanted her to eat something healthy before they had the team meeting, and well before he had to disclose to her the conversation he'd had with J.L. After that, she probably wouldn't be able to keep anything down.
"What's the matter, baby?" Damali murmured, finally pulling away from him.
"Nothing," he lied. "I'm just glad your appetite is back and you're feeling better."
"I do feel better," she said, staring up at him. "It was awful . . . and I didn't want to upset you by telling you how bad I was really feeling. Headaches that felt like an ice pick was going through mybrain, and the nausea was a bitch."
Her gaze searched his face and he kissed the center of her forehead.
"I'm sorry . . ." he said awkwardly.
"Wasn't your fault, puhlease," she said, dramatically scowling at him, trying to make him smile."Goes with the territory."
"Yeah . . . I guess," he said offhandedly. "But, like, did you notice it at any specific time?" he added, fishing for information.
Damali nodded and released their embrace so she could go back to munching on her chips. "Every time I'd get comfortable to watch the news or a movie, or even listen to the radio, within five minutes, I was as sick as a dog."
He watched her carefully as she crunched on potato chips and tried to talk at the same time. Mild panic began to brew within him again; what if the baby hadn't been getting enough nutrients because of all this? Chips just didn't seem right. What if the poisonous messages had attacked her or the fetus beyond just nausea? If the old Chairman of the Vampire Council could claw out her womb to make her miscarry before, what could the Ultimate Darkness do to Damali or the baby? He quickly shoved every mental outburst into the black-box within his mind and sealed it shut like an ancient sarcophagus. She never needed to know about or feel even a hint of his concerns while she was carrying.
"Carlos, maybe I'm crazy," she mumbled through a mouthful of chips, oblivious to his growing concern, "but I swear talk radio kicked my behind . . . I could play my old music on the stereo or on my iPod, but all the new stuff on the radio just made me evil, and it seemed like I was allergic to the computer-I couldn't download jack off the Net without jumping up fifty times to go hurl. So I just tried to walk and sleep . . . baby, I'm sorry I've been such a trip. I know these past few weeks have been really hard on you, with the mood swings and the sickness." She held his gaze for a moment. "And I know I've been all teary-eyed and not real . . . you know . . . romantic. Just wanting to hug, but that's it . . . I don't know."
"Hey," he said, coming to her to cradle her face. "I love you, all right. You haven't been feeling good. I want you to feel better-that's my number one priority. Everything else can wait."
"Yeah . . . but . . ."
He kissed the bridge of her nose."Yeah, but what?" He pulled back so she'd look at him. "I waited five years for you before, what's waiting till a little morning sicknesspasses ?"
He smiled; she smiled.
"It's been morning, noon, and night sickness, though, Carlos . . . and-"
"And you know how I am-go 'head, say it, 'cause I know that's what you were going to say." He gave her a lopsided smile, even though he was feigning outright indignation. The combination made her laugh and he released her face and hugged her off her feet. "Like, where am I going, huh? My wife carries a blade and don't play."
She pushed at his shoulders, laughing harder."Will kick your butt.Got me all knocked up and acting crazy. You'd better not leave me."
"Ain't going nowhere and can wait till you feel better," he said, burying his face against her neck to kiss it gently. He set her down on her feet and allowed his hands to slide over her shoulders in a gentle sweep.
"I'm gonna try to do better so you don't have to deal with nine months of this mess. Damn I'm hungry . . . but I don't know what I want."
"It's cool," he said, quietly surveying her. "I signed up for this tour of duty, so you just tell me what you feel like you have a taste for and I'll go bring it home."
"Salty-it's gotta be salty," she said emphatically."Sesame seeds and salty . . . with like, lots of soy sauce. You know that vegan place that does the soy chicken stir-fry with sesame seeds . . . and they make the vegetables crunchy-they don't overcook them."
"I'm on it," he said, heading toward the door. Suddenly he wanted to hunt something, wanted to expend lots of energy on a quest to feed her. He could have transported anything she desired into the kitchen, but his body needed to move. She'd ignited something very primal within him that was reminiscent of his old life, and that was also a little disturbing.
"No, wait," she said, waving a hand stained orange from barbecue flavoring."Tahini. That's the taste. Falafel with lots and lots of tahini on it . . . that's the sesame seed and soy taste, I think, and the garlicky, grainy, other thingies in it that I want-the chickpeas." She closed her eyes and ate another chip. "Yeah, in a thick, warm pita wrap."
He gave her a brief nod. "I'll be right back."
She opened her eyes, looking confused. Her suddenly serious expression and knit brow said it all; she was obviously wondering why he was going to the trouble of physically leaving the house to go get her grub. But he couldn't explain the complex emotions coursing through him right now. Profound knowing slammed into his mind with each footstep as he crossed the great hall, and then crossed the marble foyer and opened the oak French doors. Bright early morning sunlight met him, but he knew that the darkside would never stop coming for them, and with each passing week, it would be harder and harder for Damali to hide the fact that she was pregnant-then what?
Even though he remembered what Adam and Ausar had said, the Neteru Kings telling him not to worry, how was he supposed to do anythingbut worry? The fact that he was so twisted up in knots pissed him off. Panicking was not an option; it was the best way to tip his hand, show the other side vulnerability, andthat was definitely not an option.
He had to remember that serious hallowed ground that not even daywalkers could breach protected his wife and the rest of the team. All of them had been under self-imposed house arrest since they'd returned from Greece. He had to remember that they'd reinforced the compound with silver, holy water, protective prayer barriers, and every conceivable anti-demon technology available. He had to remember that the darkside was blind to this location, as were their human helpers, courtesy of a little Divine intervention by the angels. Then it dawned on him . . . why was he worrying so much? Was he poisoned?
More than anything at the moment, however, he needed todrive, needed to move, needed to break through his own fears and reenter the world-the restored silver Bugatti was Damali's sweet, sweet thing, but the gleaming red Saleen S7 in the garage was his precious. Fuck all this lying low. That was never his style, dead or alive.
Carlos rounded the garden pathway to the garage, preferring to enter it that way rather than by going through the entire house to enter the spacious carport. His head felt like it was about to explode, and he didn't know why. Worry was one thing, but this was something much more intense.
Salt, she wanted salt. The baby was building blood volume in the first trimester. It was a fact that anyone could read online or in a parenting magazine article while sitting in a doctor's waiting room. But a very old part of him sensed it, perhaps worse, he'd literally smelled it . . . the minute changes in the hormone concentrations in her blood . . . in the baby's blood. Maybe that was what was freaking him out-if he could still smell that acutely after no longer being a full vampire, what could very old councilmen pick up in the hundredths of particles per billion coursing through his wife's veins? Lilith would know . . . her husband would know-then it would be on.
Sesame seeds.Damali had said she had a taste for sesame seeds. Carlos wrested his mind away from the brink of an outright panic attack as he walked. Sesame seeds were chockful of nutrients, especially those that fed a growing baby's brain. He punched in the code and impatiently waited for the long garage door to open.
What he couldn't understand was,where did the sudden kill-rush come from?
Carlos walked between the lines of custom-kitted parked vehicles and then opened the butterfly door on his red racer. His S7 had been put back together lovely after all the body damage she'd sustained in Death Valley, just like Damali's Bugatti had. Rider's boys from the Arizona Guardian team had done a fantastic job.
Remembering the run-in with Fallon Nuit almost made him snarl as he slid against the butter soft leather interior, yanked the door closed, and gripped the steering wheel. Yeah, now he knew why he'd wanted to kill something-just thinking about what had happened to Heather on the back of Dan's bike that night sent a chill through him. Damali couldn't miscarry again, and at the same time, as her belly grew, the harder it would be for Heather . . . maybe even for Juanita, who desperately wanted a child, too. There was so much bullshit to think about it was making his mind crazy.
"Damn!" Carlos started the engine and shifted the gears hard, peeling out of the garage. Driving with one hand, he leaned over and popped open the glove compartment to pull out his sunglasses, hurriedly put them on, and pushed them up the bridge of his nose. If they wanted to play . . . and this time, if they hurt her, there'd be no redemption for him. Yeah, he and old Lu could go one-on-one till the end of time and blow up half the planet-but he was not going down without a fight or be held hostage to fear.
Speed was his demon at the moment, the one he wanted to conquer right now. It was easy to blind police radar guns as he took the scenic route at a hundred-and-ten miles per hour. The vehicle handled like a rocket and didn't even start to vibrate as the speedometer crept to one-eighty with a bullet. It was pure engineering genius.
Carlos focused on the desolate road, his senses sweeping the terrain for bikers, other drivers, deer, and morning trucker traffic, anything that could flip his car or be killed by it. Five miles out from his destination, he backed the S7 down to a reasonable suburban speed. But he'd had to get the rush out of his system first.
Adrenaline sweat had made his T-shirt cling to his back. A deep burgundy V formed a pattern in the crimson T-shirt. Carlos glanced in the rearview mirror as he brought the S7 to a purring stop. A noticeable, intense silver glare showed through his dark lenses and a hint of fang had begun to crest in his mouth. He had to pull it together-what the hell was wrong with him? He definitely couldn't go into the small diner like this. Coming out of the compound had been a really bad idea, but after weeks of being cooped up, he'd needed this run.
"Help me, God," he murmured with his eyes tightly shut. "What's wrong with me?"
"Nada," a quiet, familiar voice said, making Carlos snap his attention toward the passenger's seat.
The translucent image of Padre Lopez stared back at Carlos. For two seconds, the interior cabin of the sleek sports car was way too small. It took everything within him not to bolt or attack, and for his mind to catch up with the image his eyes took in. Immediately his hot silver gaze burned through the apparition to scan it for authenticity. Padre Lopezwaited, his patient stare an answer to the invasive burst of silvery white light. Carlos's shoulders relaxed by several inches and his sudden battle bulk slowly ebbed as he realized his dangerous thoughts had summoned a friend and not the Devil himself.
Carlos let his breath out hard and rubbed his palms down his face. "Padre, you've gotta give a man a little more warning if you're gonna make a visitation from the other side." He then smoothed the bristled hair down on the back of his neck, never taking his eyes off the apparition.
"I am among many who help guard the child," Padre said softly. Even in his spirit form, Padre Lopez's youthful eyes held the same wonder and awe they had when he was alive. "I have missed the family, Carlos, but I stop in to pay my respects from time to time." He smiled tenderly and looked at Carlos for a long while before speaking again. "How have you been, brother?"
"I'm not sure," Carlos admitted quickly, knowing that if the Light had sent in a dead priest after he'd prayed for help, things were definitely not looking good.
Padre Lopez nodded and Carlos watched the sunlight that was coming in the windows beam right through the young priest. Seeing that was as eerie as having Lopez read his thoughts. This clearly wasn't just a social call.
"You are not reverting, Carlos, just remembering. There is nothing wrong with that which Damali carries. As it grows, every defense mechanism that is a part of your DNA will get stronger. So will hers."
"You sure?The baby is fine? My wife is cool, too, right?" Carlos massaged the tension out of his neck. "Positive?"
"This time, you will be able to trust the human doctors from the Covenant. They will not betray you again."
Carlos shook his head. "Last time, when they weren't sure what I was, they tried to sterilize Damali. So you'll have to forgive me if I'm skeptical. I'd rather leave it up to Marlene, Aset, and Eve, because in this frame of mind, Iwill take a body-human or otherwise, if they mess with my wife."
Padre Lopez nodded, but didn't smile. "I pray over her food, even when she forgets. Her system cannot take another poisoning. We all watch for murderous attempts from the darkside." His eyes remained sad and his unrelated comment was clearly avoiding the sore subject of the earlier betrayal of the team by misdirected humans.
Carlos released his breath in another hard sigh of relief and let the subject drop, picking up on the young priest's evasive statement. "Good looking out, man,thank you."
Still the apparition of one of the lost members of the Covenant didn't smile. The strained look in Padre's eyes prompted Carlos's next question.
"Then why am I remembering the old days when I was dead? I know I'm getting stronger . . . but I'm feeling some of the old things that I thought were finally purged out of my system, Padre."
Padre Lopez looked down at his hands for a moment and his image began to fade. "You are still our best asset. From the line of Dante, who was the progenitor of Cain-who thus helped beget that which we now hunt . . . the spawn of Lilith and the Unnamed One. You can still feel them directly when we cannot. You were once tethered to their dark thrones and know how they function; you are experienced in their ways. Once their drain to your energy lifted, you could again pick up impressions. That is why they sent me, your line brother, from life . . . one who can interpret those images and messages, too. Just call on me, Carlos, to gather up whatever you feel and I will carry it up to the battle stations in the Light."
He stared at Carlos when Carlos didn't immediately reply. "Remember Psalm Ninety-one, 'He will command His angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways . . . they will lift you up lest you strike your foot against a stone.' Never forget that-we have been instructed in your behalf."
"Cool." His voice was monotone. He didn't like still being remotely connected one bit, but what could he do. Carlos slumped back in his seat and briefly shut his eyes as he let out a hard exhale. "They're feeding him-the Beast's son-which means it's still alive, strong enough now to eat. I know that's goodintel but I don't wanna feel it. Maybe I didn't even wanna know it. Does that make sense?"
When Carlos opened his eyes, Padre Lopez was gone, but his faint voice hung in the cabin, leaving behind an eerie gentle answer.
"Yes."
When Carlos came back into the kitchen with her meal, she could tell by the mechanical way he walked into the room that something was seriously wrong. He moved like a robot. His normally fluid motions were now jerky. Gone was the smooth, almost feline stride that gave him a graceful, pantherlike quality that was one of the sexiest things about him. It was his trademark and it was gone, along with any ability he owned at stealth.
Tension had made the muscles in his handsome face rigid and he avoided looking directly at her-a dead giveaway. He seemed flushed, as though he'd battle bulked and then repressed it. Beads of perspiration rimmed his hairline, causing his precision cut onyx waves to glisten under the sunlight. Adrenaline sweat had obviously made his red T-shirt stick to him, showing off every brick in his stonecut chest and abdomen, because it wasn't hot enough outside this early in the morning for him to be looking like that. Even his muscular thighs now seemed to be straining, trapped beneath the black jeans fabric as he walked deeper into the kitchen. His Tims created heavy, weary thuds against the floor. This was not the same man that had left the house a little more than a half hour ago.
Damali quickly jumped up from the deck lounge chair she'd been sunning herself in and slid open the glass door that led into the house. What was wrong with her husband? She said a quick mental prayer-Dear God, don't let anything bad have happened. Then she amended the request with a whisper, knowing that something awful had already obviously gone down. "Please, God . . . just help us."
She stared at Carlos's intense expression and the way his deep brown eyes were still hidden by black sunglasses as he entered the house, studying every detail about him. The muscles pulsed in his jaw; his biceps twitched every few seconds like he was straining not to punch something unseen. The muscles in his broad shoulders were so tight that they'd bunched into thick cords. She surveyed his golden-bronze complexion, searching for any signs of demon attack, and came away wanting.
Damn. Why did she ask him for tahini . . . ? She could have figured out something else, eaten anything else-it wasn't that important. She should have stopped him! The entire team had been lying low for weeks; nobody had ventured off the compound grounds. But he'd seemed so happy to be finally getting out for a drive.So confident. She'd never forgive herself if she'd sent him on a stupid grub run and he'd gotten ambushed. She took a steadying breath and closed the door behind her.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm good . . . did you pray over those chips before you ate 'em?" Carlos glanced at her and then raced to the trash can as he slung her falafel platter onto the counter. "Benedicti-"
"Hold it, hold it,hold it, Carlos." Damali rushed up to him and held on to both his arms. "If you're doing ancient Latin benedictions over a dead potato chip bag like an exorcism, you mind telling me-your wife-what's going on?"
"Everything's cool," Carlos said, wiping at the sweat on his brow. "No need to getyourself all worked up. We just have to be diligent, have to be sure you don't get poisoned again. If you pray over your food-"
"Who came to you?" She stared at him without blinking.
"Nobody, it's just for good measure."
"You used to be able to lie so smooth . . . humph, humph, humph," she said with a half smile, shaking her head. "I guess there's been improvement, growth. You can't lie to me anymore without me knowing."
"Baby, I got your platter the way you wanted it," he said, guiding her to the counter and then pulling out a stool for her to sit down on. "Let's say the Lord's Prayer over it, then you can eat, and I'll pour you something to drink-"
"No offense, but the Lord's Prayer is a little intense over a falafel platter, don't you think? What about the normal grace that takes all of five seconds?" She was baiting him, but he just shrugged and tried to play it off.
"Naw, it's just that we need to be more careful nowadays."
"Carlos Rivera," Damali said quietly, folding her arms over her chest. "Who did you see and what's going on?" She let her breath out hard when he didn't immediately answer. "Keeping things from me doesn't protect me-it makes me worry. I'd rather know if something bad was about to jump off than get blindsided by it . . . you oughta know me better than that by now."
Carlos took off his sunglasses and dragged his fingers through his hair, sliding the glasses across the counter. He looked both ways and then stepped in close to her, keeping his voice low.
"My job is to help protect you through all of this . . . to keep you chilled out. The whole time you're carrying, everything happening around you needs to be real peace so the baby doesn't go through any trauma because you, my lady, ain't gotta go through no bullshit."
Damali reached up, cradled his face, and gently kissed him. "Impossible job, given who we are and what we do, but I appreciate the sentiment." She leaned closer, almost falling off the stool to hug him while he stood next to her, roughly rubbing her back. Even his touch was off. Both of his huge hands felt like anvils as they tried to pat her shoulders before he stepped away from her, spiking her alarm at the amount of tension riddling his body.
"Tell me," she said in a firm but gentle tone.
"Padre," Carlos finally admitted in a quiet voice. "He prays for you before you eat anything, even when you forget."
Damali caught his hand and pulled him in close, then laid her head on his shoulder and hugged him hard. "I know you miss him . . . is that what this is about?"
"I miss a lot of people, D," he admitted, pushing a stray lock that had worked its way loose from her ponytail behind her ear.
"Then what's wrong?" Damali pulled back and looked deeply into his eyes. "Why else did Padre Lopez come to you? If it was just to make you feel better about missing him, you wouldn't have walked in here all jacked up."
"I'm still linked in," Carlos said on a hard exhale. "Still a fucking GPS system, which is dangerous for anybody near me. . . . If I'm tapped into them, they might be tapped into me and mine."
"You'll always have a tie there," she said quietly. "We both know that. It's our best defense and I'm not afraid of that."
"Yeah, well this time I am," he said in a sudden rush, slapping the center of his chest. "I am, D. Why can't they just give me temporary clearance where I'll know for sure that nothing bad can seep from me to you or from my old life to you? I didnot need to hear that shit this morning!"
"Hey . . ." she said softly, holding on to his arm so he didn't widen the space between them. "I'm silver-plated."
Her attempt to minimize the risk didn't work and she immediately felt bad that she'd even tried that tact. Carlos just looked at her. His mood was sobering, and although she'd known how deeply worried he'd been when she'd conceived, she'd mistakenly thought he'd purged that pain when they'd discussed it before. Clearly he hadn't, or maybe it was that something new had brought it all back with a vengeance.
"It'sgonna be all right, Carlos," she said softly, not knowing what else to say. "The Neteru Councils promised . . ."
"The babyhas to get here this time," he murmured. "You have to make it, too. It's not an either/or choice. Both of you gotta make it, or I won't."
"Gonna do my best, and with you having my back, what's the worry?" She forced a smile and caressed his cheek.
"Damali, there's been an incident. We have to have a family meeting after you eat."
"Eat?Hell . . . no time like the present. Let's get everybody in the Situation Room and-"
"Not till you eat."
She began to pull away, but he held her firm by hugging her where she sat. "C'mon, Carlos, that can wait."
"This is exactly why I've been acting like I have. I need to know that you'll do things a little differently-not a lot differently, just a little differently-like you'll listen to me when I ask you to please sit down and eat."
Slowly, her body yielded within his embrace. "Okay," she finally said. "But can you debrief me here while I eat?" She didn't have the heart to tell him that after scarfing down an entire family-sized bag of chips, the last thing in the world she wanted to do was eat a falafel platter. The mood had passed.
He forced a smile and she could tell that it took a lot for him to make his mouth accept it. "I'll talk, you eat, but that's the deal."
"Deal," she said, reaching around him and picking up the dinner bag he'd left on the counter, glad that the impasse was solved.
"Good, 'cause it don't make no sense trying to raise my kid on barbecue chips."