Page 93 of Finding Delaware

I don’t know why I’m expecting something like rum or whiskey when I take a swig, especially when he told me yesterday that he’s two years sober, but what I’m not expecting is the thick, hot sweetness that rolls over my tongue.

“Hot chocolate?”

He grins, flashing his crooked incisor when he nods in encouragement, and I find myself staring at his bright eyes as I take a few more gulps before handing it back to him. The color in his irises seems more green today against the sea of white surrounding us.

After he screws the lid shut, we gaze out at the frozen lake in silence. Logan’s laugh comes from behind us, followed by Salem’s voice, but I don’t feel like joining their conversation right now. I like the calm I’ve found near the water.

But, of course, Taylor has to disturb it because the guy doesn’t know how to shut up.

“Want to ice skate with me?” He throws an offering hand out to the lake, and I raise my brows over my sunglasses.

“Are you kidding?”

That damn grin taunts me again.

“Uh, negatory.” My eyes sweep over the lake. “Who knows how thin or thick that ice is?”

His lips smack in protest. “Where’s your sense of whimsy, Huck?”

“My sense of self-preservation outweighs it,” I choke out, and I feel him freeze next to me. The look on his face clearly indicates he’s been taken off guard, but he recovers quickly, and I stare at him perplexed until the words I said dawn on me.

Sense of self-preservation.

What, the knowledge that I want to live threw him for a loop?

My chest tightens painfully as I turn away. I guess I get it. The whole trust thing, remember? Between the looks of worry I get from my grandparents and Logan, I should be used to it by now. And I am. Even if it still stings a little when it happens, I understand. But coming from Taylor? Something about it hurts more, and I can’t understand why.

Things get awkward after that. I wish he’d join Logan and Salem and leave me be. The peace I felt earlier, that comfortable buzz inside of me, is fading fast with his presence so close, different from when I was pressed against him on the snowmobile. Against the cushioned hush of the lake, his nearness feels almost intimate, making my skin itch.

“Have you ever ice-fished?” He blurts suddenly, startling me, and I shake my head.

“Nope.”

“Me either.” He’s quiet for a moment. “I’d go ice fishing. With you.”

Brows pulling down, I turn to find him gazing at me cautiously. My lips twitch, and as hard as I try to keep it in, a laugh bursts out of me because that was just...such a weird thingto say. And the way he said it. Haltingly, like he was unsure how to speak.

“I’d go ice fishing with you, too,” I chuckle, grinning widely, but then it falls off my face when I remember who I’m talking to.

This is Taylor fucking Tottman, and I’m supposed to hate him. Because he’s an asshole. And selfish. And the cute, charming act he’s got on right now is just that; an act.

As if sensing my sudden shift in mood, his face tightens, shoulders tensing like he’s bracing for something. We gaze at each other momentarily before I pull away, turning toward where Logan and Salem are sunbathing on a nearby picnic table.

“We should probably head back to the cabin soon.”

“Yeah. Right.”

As he follows, the dejected tone in his voice makes my jaw clench, but I say nothing while we all pile back onto our snowmobiles and head out. I catch Salem’s helmet turning toward Taylor occasionally as if she sees something she doesn’t like, but whatever. Not my problem. Taylor’s feelings are not my problem.

We must have gone far because it takes us over an hour to get back to the cabin. The hearth is freezing becausesomeone(Taylor) was so excited to go snowmobiling that he forgot it was his turn to load the fireplace before we left. As he begins piling in the wood, I let off a string of grumbled curses that have Salem narrowing her eyes at me before locking myself in the bathroom to shower.

Good mood gone. Peace bubble popped.

Fuck you, Taylor.

My mood improves slightly later that night.

Salem and I are on opposite ends of the sofa, sharing a blanket while she does homework, and I attempt to draw in my sketchbook. Logan and Taylor are sitting on the floor playing Monopoly, and I’ll admit that Taylor’s hatred for the game is pretty funny. He’s been bitching and moaning about it since they started playing.

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