Page 32 of Never Have I Ever

“It was warm. The bed is comfortable.” The slightest shrug hits, and she adds, “I slept better than I expected, considering my new neighbor.”

I laugh, and for the first time since I saw her again, it’s real and feels good to release some of the tension I’ve been holding.

She turns around and rests her backside against the counter, her smile disarming. “I’m glad you’re not as grumpy today.” She holds the mug up. “You know how to make a good cup of coffee, so no complaints.” The surprise in her tone isn’t lost on me.

Kicking back in the big chair in the living room, I reply, “Yeah, I’m a real Renaissance man, remember?”

“I do.”

I hate how fast my good mood shifts, but hearing those words flaunted in front of me . . . takes me back to Magnolia Café. I keep my eyes trained on the mug in my hands to focus on something else. Seemingly not noticing me, she continues, “I didn’t expect to wake up to snow. I wanted to get out of your way today.”

Locking eyes on her, I take another sip of coffee. “Sometimes we don’t get what we want.”

The view of the white snow covering the ground and the dark lake ahead is extreme in contrast with the black-framed windows, making it picture-perfect. “No, we sure don’t.”

To get it out of the way, I add, “You’re stuck here at least one more night.” As soon as I woke up, I knew that would be the case, but I’m still unsure how I feel about her hanging around. Or the reverse and how she’ll take the news.

“If you don’t want company . . .” Moving closer, she stops just shy of the back of the couch. Her intuition is spot-on. She might be reading me better than I know myself. If only I could tell her the war my brain is having over her. “I can take my coffee in the bedroom?”

I shake my head, then signal to the couch. “We’re stuck together. You should make yourself at home.”

“It kind of reminds me of home in winter.”

“Where are you from?” And how do I not know this?

“New York, a small town a few hours from the city. It’s beautiful there as well, but it feels different than here. Probably the baggage that comes along with it.” She laughs quietly, but I don’t hear the joy behind it.

She comes around and sits, taking another drink of her coffee. Her eyes go to the mantel, her gaze running over each item sitting on it.

“There are no cameras. I promise.”

Readjusting, she gets more comfortable. “I’m going to trust you.”

Trust is something she can always give me. I would never hurt her despite the pain she’s caused me.

Her shorts ride higher on her thighs, exposing a small ravine dug into her skin. It’s only a few inches long, but the scar is noticeable. Rolling my gaze higher, I trace another jagged pink line down her arm. Neither was there when we were together. I would know. I memorized every inch of her body. The only flaw I found was that she was perfect for me in every way. Still is, if I’m being honest, and I’m finding the lies too much to carry around her.

Would it really make it worse if I said everything that’s been holding me back for years?

“I was in an accident,” she says without me asking.

She’s alive and in one piece, offering the smallest of comfort.

“An accident?” I ask too quickly, too brusque. The world around us goes quiet, or maybe that’s just in my imagination. The weight of her answer matters more than anything I ever needed.

I give her a complete inspection, needing to know she’s okay. But by appearance, she hides any damage done on the inside, causing my stomach to choke. “Are you okay?” I’m desperate for her to assuage the pain squeezing my chest. An accident . . . Fuck.

My gut twists, but my nerves are on edge. I sit forward, wishing I could touch her scars, to touch her again, and heal what remains.

“A car accident.” She reaches for a blanket to cover her legs. I don’t want her hiding from me, so I move my gaze away from the scars. It’s not a chore when all of her is so beautiful. Soft laughter rocks her frame. “I can’t tell you much other than I was at the receiving end of it.” A hand waving in front of my face snaps me back. “Hey?”

I didn’t realize I was staring. Her words had taken over, the images too destructive to bear.

She adds, “No need to worry. I’m okay. Other than some scars and a few setbacks along the way, I’m told I’m as good as new.” She’s coping, a denial of extent sitting in her eyes, and another short laugh vibrates the air around her.

“And you’re not?”

She looks away from me. The coffee doesn’t hold her interest, but the pilling on the blanket does. “I’m as good as I’ll ever be.”

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