Page 39 of Out of the Cold

Lucy watched her stride across the worn carpet to where a man was gesturing angrily at a younger library employee holding a clipboard. She couldn’t hear what Amelia said, but her new acquaintance didn’t seem remotely cowed when the man turned to her. Amelia wasn’t all that much older than her, but she exuded confidence.

No one would ever describe Lucy that way, but she could work on that, starting with the opportunity she’d been offered.

She left the building with a lighter step, her mind already turning over ideas for how to structure the course. That evening she started putting those ideas together, and by the next night, she had a proposal for a workshop that would meet once a week for six weeks.

Pulling out the flyer Amelia had given her, she sent the proposal before she could second guess herself.

***

Gabe woke up Thanksgivingmorning and lay there, staring at the ceiling without moving. It was already ten o’clock, but he hadn’t fallen asleep until after two.

A wave of homesickness swept over him before he was fully awake, a deep well of grief and yearning opening in his chest.

All around the country, families were preparing for a ritual that brought people together. But he was flouting it, hurting his whole family and causing them more worry.

He hauled himself out of bed, too agitated to lie there any longer, and looked out the front window.

Lucy was still here.

All week he’d been wondering if she would spend Thanksgiving somewhere else, but her car was still in the driveway. Which didn’t seem right. The last thing anyone deserved was a Thanksgiving alone in the woods with no one but him for company.

Not that he could even be considered company. She seemed to have forgiven him for being a miserable bastard that day in the coffee shop, and all the times before that, but their wild fuck against the wall of his cabin was miles too far across the line.

No matter what she said.

Maybe they’d have been able to sit down to a cordial meal together if that hadn’t happened. But they hadn’t even spoken since the morning after.

Whatever fragile peace they’d managed had been blown apart that night, and he wasn’t sure where they stood now. She didn’t seem angry with him, but he was angry enough for both of them.

Angry, and unable to forget. It was one thing to wonder what her skin felt like or what it would be like to sink into her. It was another thing to know she was soft as silk everywhere—her throat, her wrist, the inside of her thighs.

He hadn’t let himself wonder what kind of sounds she’d make, but now he knew that, too. There was no forgetting any of it, but it couldn’t and wouldn’t happen again.

He moved on autopilot as he stoked the fire and heated water for coffee. His mother would be up now. He pictured her in the kitchen wearing the patchwork apron Natalie made for her during a brief sewing phase.

And here he was, on his own like he wanted. Except what he really wanted was his old life back.

The one with Ricky in it.

He set his mug down hard. He couldn’t think about that.

It was cold out, with a layer of snow on the ground, but it shouldn’t be bad on the trails. Changing into his trail-running gear, he took the time to stretch and warm up, then set off at an easy lope, grateful for the bracing cold.

By the time he came off the trail, his head was clearer, his turmoil stamped out—for the time being. He’d put things back in their boxes and was pretty sure he could keep them there for a little while.

When he came around the corner of his house, Lucy was standing at his door.

“You scared me,” she said, a hand going to her chest. Her gaze flew to his legs and then quickly back up again.

He hid a grin. He’d caught her doing that a couple of times before, and it was pretty damn gratifying.

“What’s up?” he asked, heading inside.

She hesitated, then followed him in. “I started cooking a Thanksgiving dinner, and it’s so depressing to do it for myself, so I was wondering if you wanted to have dinner with me. You’ll probably say something that makes me crazy, but at least I won’t be depressed.”

His relief was so acute, he scowled down at her. “I won’t be very good company.”

“I already know that,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But it turns out making a whole Thanksgiving meal to eat with only Hilde for company isn’t as charming and empowering as I thought it would be.”

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