“Thank you,” I say quietly. “For what?” “For coming.” The moment the words leave my mouth, he quirks a brow. I throw the other accent pillow at him, and this time it smacks against his cheek. “Oh, you’re going to get it,” he laughs as he stands up and gathers an armful of the pillows. I quickly dart away, placing the kitchen island between us as he adopts what I can only describe as a fighting pose, preparing to strike.
