Page 84 of We Redeemed the Rain

She threw her head back and laughter, free and unhindered, came out of her mouth. “Are you saying I’m stubborn?”

I held my thumb and index finger together, squinting through them. “A hair.”

She shoved my knee again. Bea was touchy. While we talked, she touched me on the arm, the hand, the knee, the shoulder. Did she do this to everyone? Or just me? I wanted to hate it and pull out of her reach, but I found myself doing the opposite—inching closer, letting my knee drift toward hers, sliding my hand further down the back of the bench. Like a pup starving for attention.

“I’m not stubborn.” She lifted her chin in defiance. “I’m self-assured. There’s a difference.”

“All the same. You don’t comply very easily.”

Her laugh ebbed and flowed again. “Neither do you. You’re a stick in the mud. Which I’ve found rather surprising.”

“Surprising? Why’s that?”

“Well, in our letters, you were a lot more…share-y.”

I grunted. “Time changes people.”

“Time doesn’t change people. Experiences change people.”

“Time equals more experiences.”

She tsked. “Are you saying you’ve had experiences that changed you?”

“Haven’t we all?”

“I have.”

“Then you know exactly what I’m talkin’ about.”

She took a deep breath. “Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t. I’ve had a lot of experiences. None of them have made me afraid of vulnerability.”

Am I that easy to read?

I looked at her in the yellow porch light, wishing I could read her mind. “Why do you think I’m afraid?”

“The boy I met in the hayloft didn’t want me to get to know him. In fact, you said I was better offnotknowing you. You let me in eventually, and we became best friends. But now, here we are and it’s taken almost a week for you to discuss something other than horses with me.”

I shook my head as a burn bloomed at the base of my neck. “Bein’ open has never come easy.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

She smiled. “I wasn’t looking for an apology. I’m happy to be let in however much or little you want.” Her smile faded, replaced by the serious crease between her brows again. “While we are talking, can I ask you one more question? It’s one that has bothered me for a long time.”

“Go ahead.” My pulse jumped.

“Why did you stop writing me?”

I should’ve known this was coming. Sixty seconds of forethought would’ve gone a long way with this answer. I scrambled for an alternative answer to the truth. I couldn’t ever share the truth with her. Not about this.

I sighed. “I got?—”

We said “busy” in unison.

She shook her head in refusal. “You were always busy. We made time for each other. I’m not sore about it at all, I just wish you’d tell me honestly if you outgrew me.”

Her words felt like a punch to the gut. Outgrow her? Was she serious?

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