Page 43 of Out of the Cold

“I can’t imagine what you went through,” he said. He wanted to say more, but he couldn’t even name what he felt. He’d made so many judgements about her without knowing anything.

“They were hard years, and not just for me. My family was pretty traumatized, and they did things for me to make my life easier, and because it was the only way they could help sometimes. It was hard on them when I moved away, even though I was healthy. Now that Mark and I are over, I think they’re hoping I’ll come back. But I need to start fending for myself, so I’m actually glad that you don’t want to babysit me.”

Everything he’d said had seemed reasonable at the time. Now he saw how cruel he’d been. She was up here on her own, trying to make it work so she didn’t have to go home, and all he’d done was point out the ways she was failing.

How did she even stand him?

The oven buzzed that it was up to temperature, and they both jumped. He slid the hens in and set the timer.

“Why don’t we sit,” he said, nodding toward the big living area on the other side of the woodstove. “The other food doesn’t need to go in for a while.”

She curled up on the sofa and pulled a throw blanket over her. “So now you know all about me.”

“Not even close,” he said, his voice lower and rougher than he’d intended.

She gave him a look. “I’ve completely spilled my guts here. You could at least tell me one thing about yourself.”

“Such as?”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. I don’t know. What’s your favorite book?”

Some of the tension eased out of him. “It’s hard to pick one.” He thought for a minute. He’d read very little since Ricky died, but he had a bookcase at home with all his favorites. He could see them lined up there, waiting.

“I like Anne Cleeves and Walter Mosley mysteries, and I’ll read pretty much anything by Stephen King or Junot Diaz. Jon Krakauer and Bill Bryson write great nonfiction.” He laughed. “My sister always gets me David Sedaris books for Christmas when there’s a new one. Have you read him?”

“A few of his stories, but I don’t have any of his books.” She studied him, as if trying to figure him out. “You used to be different, didn’t you?”

For several long seconds, all he could do was stare at her. Then he set his glass carefully on the table and stood up. “I’ll go check on the food.”

“Wait. I’m sorry, Gabriel. I didn’t mean...”

But he brushed past her without slowing down and made for the bathroom on the other side of the cabin. Closing the door, he braced his hands on the sink and hung his head.

He closed his eyes and breathed in for a count of four and out for the same. He repeated those breaths until his heart rate eased and his head cleared. He splashed water on his face and dried off, his movements slow and deliberate.

He needed to go. He’d make up an excuse, and she’d accept it, or pretend to. She couldn’t make him stay.

Except how could he walk out after everything she’d told him? She’d bared her most painful experiences, and he’d walked away from her. Leaving would be unforgivable. Never mind that she’d invited him here because she didn’t want to be alone.

That day in the coffee shop, she’d said it would be easier if he was always a jerk instead of fooling her by being nice some of the time.

He knew people who were like that. Had even dated a couple. Things would be going along fine, and then they’d snap or get moody out of nowhere. Sometimes he had an idea where it was coming from—a parent who’d recently died, a shitty boss—but it didn’t make it any better. And here was Lucy, with no clue why he acted the way he did.

Being around him must really suck.

It wasn’t fair to her, and it would be even worse to ruin today for her. He needed to get a grip.

He took a few more deep breaths and headed back to the kitchen.

She came toward him and put a hand on his arm. “Please don’t go. I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I said that.”

“It’s okay. I was just surprised.” He looked down at her hand on his arm and swallowed the lump in his throat. “You weren’t wrong.”

Part of him still wanted to take off, but he also knew what waited for him back in his own cabin. It didn’t hold a candle to Lucy’s soft smile.

“You could use some more wood in here,” he said.

“You don’t need to do that. I’ve got plenty for the night.”

---