Page 43 of Tempest

“Gavin.”

“Caroline said good gluten-free bread is hard to get and who the fuck can live without bread? I get restless sometimes when I’m here alone, so it seemed like a good way to spend my time.” He’s rambling and rearranging things in the basket, all while I stand in awe. “When I finally got the bread right, I figured I might as well try muffins and then it all snowballed.”

What kind of man learns to bake for a practical stranger, because we are that, aren’t we? Even if it doesn’t always feel that way.

“Gavin,” I repeat, as a sudden wave of chills grabs hold of me. I wrap my arms around me as if it can ward off the cold, the emotion, the exhaustion that wants to creep in. I’ve had a few Hashimoto flare-ups that have felt similar, but I think this is more than just that, it’s different. Foreign, even.

“Hey,” he says, stepping close and cupping my cheeks. “You okay?”

“No,” I say, staring up at him with a vulnerability I haven’t felt for so, so long.

“It’s just bread, Odette.” He rubs his thumbs along my jawline and it’s the most soothing thing I’ve experienced since being sick as a child and my mother would lay my head on her lap and pet my hair.

“It’s not just bread, Gavin,” I tell him. “It’s you being considerate and kind when I’ve been the opposite to you.”

“The bread, the flowers, they aren’t transactional, Ode. You don’t have to be nice to me because I do things for you. If I didn’t want to do them, I wouldn’t,” he says. “I understand why this is hard for you.”

Try as I might to keep the tears at bay, I can’t.

“You don’t, Gavin. You can’t possibly understand what it’s like to watch the only person you ever planned a future with wait at the end of the aisle to marry someone else. I watched you kiss your bride and smile while my heart broke in real time,” I say with a voice that sounds steadier than it feels. “You can’t know what it was like to lie in bed alone that night and wonder how their wedding night was spent.”

“Ode.” His forehead rests on mine, his eyes closed. He can try not to see but I’ll live with those memories forever.

“I can’t give you much of me, Gavin. There’s so little left of me.”

“I don’t believe that, and I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t. I don’t need an apology.”

“What do you need, Odette?”

“For you to abandon any expectations,” I say. His handsome face was happy and hopeful all day. I’ve now ruined it because I won’t hold in my own truth. I don’t know if it’s fair to share my pain with him but it’s too hard to keep it to myself right now. “Friends is all I can give, Gavin. And I fear I can’t be a very good one to you.”

“I won’t ask for more than you can give, Ode,” he says after a steadying breath. “Just let me be some small part of your life.”

13

Odette

Then

“Gavin is here,” she says warily. “I’ll tell him to leave if you want me to.”

“No. I’ll talk to him,” I tell my mom.

“You sure, honey?”

Am I? No, not at all. What outweighs that is my need to hear his reason. I nod and crawl off my bed, the place that I’ve been spending too much time in these past days. Instinctively, I reach for the sweatshirt that I’ve been wearing for weeks—the New York Ice Wolf’s logo emblazoned on the front. Gavin lent it to me one chilly night and wouldn’t let me return it. It’s the only thing I have of his and I debate whether I should return it or not.

I leave it and grab a cardigan that’s seen better days if the piling at the sleeves says anything. It’s thick and cozy, though, and that seems more important just now.

My mother didn’t let Gavin inside. I step out on the front porch. He’s sitting on the steps. He doesn’t look up, but his shoulders tense. We both know this won’t be easy or kind, the weight of it stifles the summer air.

Taking a seat on the same step, I keep to the far side, leaving as much distance between us as I can.

“You’re marrying Caroline next week.”

“I’d hoped you hadn’t heard. I wanted to tell you first. Our mothers were…anxious to get the news out.”

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