Page 96 of When in December

I stopped myself from continuing. Aaron wasn’t going to respond. I was baffled, yet unable to figure out what else to say when he was not going to talk. His jaw was hard, though his hands remained in control on the wheel, though he did start driving until I clicked my seat belt into place.

The rest of the ride home was silent. Not even the radio was loud enough to breach the uneasy tension that made the space feel uncomfortable and thick.

What had happened back there? Had Aaron not had a good talk with Barrett? Was he upset with me?

I mean, he still could be after the other day that we still hadn’t talked about. The kiss.

Us.

Even if there was no us.

We were back in front of the cabin before I could let myself spiral down into a pit of puzzlement. Aaron turned off the truck and got out. After another minute, trying to stay calm, I followed.

Opening the door to the mudroom, Aaron kicked off his shoes and walked in without looking back at me. Tiny nails pattered toward the door, and I watched as Oz attempted to jump the best he could to greet Aaron.

“Chill out, Oz,” Aaron mumbled, smoothing a hand over the dog before sending him away.

He still wasn’t looking back at me. I froze there in the mudroom. Usually in here, I looked around to make sure everything was in its place, that this room was complete. Dark blue paint and wallpaper were perfectly aligned. I had nothing left to do with my design. But I wasn’t focused on my work. My entire focus was on Aaron and the heavy pulse thudding in my chest.

Aaron continued to walk through the house. He slowly took off his jacket as he went through the kitchen and into the living room with a sigh.

One step at a time, I walked in after him. I looked at the back of his head. He’d pulled himself together once and for all tonight. I had seen it happening slowly with clean clothing and consistent showers and making sure that he was eating while we worked to fill out his frame. But now, he was clean-shaven and crisp, rolling back his shoulders to stand tall.

I wasn’t sure if I would’ve recognized the man as the same one standing exactly where we’d met a few weeks ago. But I knew Aaron now. I’d known him for over a decade. I knew the good he had in him. I knew the sound of his laughter. I knew his anger, and I knew what he looked like in tears.

But this kind of Aaron, pacing and quiet as he searched through his head for something—I was still unsure what—I didn’t know. Not yet.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

Aaron twisted around to face me. I stood behind the couch in the living room, dropping my purse on the cushion so I could wring my hands.

Now, he was the one who looked confused. “You’re sorry?”

“Yes,” I said.

“About what?”

I swallowed, gathering up some ounce of courage. I knew I had it. I just needed to find it somewhere in myself. “The other day, I shouldn’t have even come to the house after you told me not to. I should have been more considerate and not pushed your boundaries, which led us into inappropriate behavior, and I truly apologize that this has made you uncomfortable.”

He stared at me like he was looking at some sort of alien in front of him.

“You think this is about how I kissed you,” he said.

Wasn’t it? “Yes.”

“Because I kissed you? That’s why you think I’m acting like a crazy person right now who can’t even string together a stupid sentence?”

This time, I didn’t answer.

“I kissed you,” Aaron said, leaning in closer to me. “I kissedyou.”

His lips were a breath away from my own.

“You did.” I blinked rapidly, forcing myself to keep eye contact with him. “You didn’t have to do that, and I’m sorry it happened.”

“You’re sorry?”

“Yes. I put you in a position where?—”

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