Page 62 of Knotted Laces

“It’s clearly not in shambles now.”

“No. But it took almost two years.”

She glances at me and I see those brows have shot up again.

“I did a lot of work myself.” Higher now, and I shrug. “I tore it down to the studs over one off-season, fixed plenty of dry rot, and then spent the next season and then off-season building it back up.”

“That’s really awesome.”

“Though, I did have help with the electrical, plumbing, and the septic tank.” I wink at her. “I can handle a piece of tile that’snot perfectly level, but a toilet that doesn’t flush or a light switch that tries to electrocute me? Not so much.”

She grins. “Yeah, I’ll take a no on the fire hazards as well.”

“Exactly. But, all in all, it was a great project. I learned a lot, cursed a lot, and now I have a great place up here.”

“Wow,” she says, shaking her head. “How did I not know this?”

“If you knew that Mom stocked my freezer with cinnamon rolls, I’d lose my stash.”

Laughter fills the air, and for a moment I feel a hundred feet tall. But then she exhales and hits me with those deep brown eyes. “No really, Cam. Why didn’t I know?”

And there’s no way I can’t give her the truth, though I try to give her the most glossed over version. “I’m good at keeping stuff against my chest until I’m ready to share.”

That has her tilting her head to the side, studying me closely. Then her mouth twitches. “Yeah, I’d say so.” A beat. “Tenyears of saying so.”

“This is you making a joke about emotions?”

Her mouth twitches again. “It’s out there already. If I can’t make a joke, I’ll run screaming for the hills.”

“Thanks,” I say dryly

Her face changes. “I didn’t mean?—”

I bump my shoulder against hers. “I know. I’m teasing.”

But there’s still sadness in her eyes. “I don’t know how to do this, Cam. I’m…well…I’m afraid that there are things inside me that are broken permanently.”

“I think you’re selling yourself short.”

“Ithink you’re not looking at this with a clear head.” She clenches her hand into a fist, taps it against her thigh. “I’m dangerous. I?—”

I take her fingers, carefully release them from the taut grip. “Look, I shared something with you that I haven’t told anyone, and you came to me with compassion and understanding?—”

“And whisky.”

I tug a lock of her hair, well aware she’s using the joke to put distance between us. “Andwhisky. But before the whisky,” I say, “you listened. You listened and then you shared, cupcake. About yourself. Which I know isn’t easy for you.”

She exhales.

“If that’s not knowing how to do this then I don’t know what is.”

She falls silent for a long moment, staring out at the setting sun. Wind is rustling through the pine needles and the temperature is dropping, but the water is trending the right way and if we can finagle a ride out of here tomorrow then we’ll be back to reality.

Back to normal.

That has a spot between my shoulders tensing.

But I force it to relax.

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