This was absurd. She had no reason to be here, sitting on the couch with her teacup in front of her face and her lips pursed like they were, demanding he give her some biscuits, and for what? Because he'd told her to leave? He shot her a sideways glance, his brows furrowed.

"Would you like me to put some in the oven?" he asked, his voice thick. Never mind that he didn't really know how to bake, but he didn't keep biscuits in his home without reason. He wasn't even sure why he was entertaining her requests when he should have been explaining that, yes, she could go and he wouldn't do anything stupid—whatever that meant. At least then he could wallow in his guilt without having her simmering on his couch.

---