Page 95 of Finding Forever

“Okay.” The word was all she felt capable of managing right now.

He nodded, seemingly satisfied for now. And left her—feeling even more confused than ever before—moments later.

Fern succumbedto a quick bout of self-indulgent tears during her lovely, hot shower, before admonishing herself that it wasn’t really helping anyone. Afterwards she pulled on a pair of comfy, thick knee-length socks and changed into one of the large T-shirts Cade had given her after several of her sleep shirts had mysteriously disappeared from the laundry hamper a week ago.

“Things sometimes disappear inexplicably,” he’d said in response to her confusion back then. “I’ve lost a fair number of socks in the same way.”

Fiveshirts all vanishing simultaneously was not even close to a random missing sock or two. It had been baffling and she’d wondered if his housekeeper had somehow mistaken them for someone else’s and discarded them.

She’d let the inexplicable incident go when Cade had graciously donated several of his own T-shirts to substitute as her nightwear for now. They weren’t as brutally gory as her last shirts—mostly plain colors—but they were soft with wear and super comfy. Also, longer and roomier than Margot’s ex-boyfriend’s shirts.

She tentatively made her way downstairs, and found him bustling around in the kitchen. He’d changed clothes as well, and now wore a pair of black fleecy sweatpants, a dark gray zip up hoodie, and nothing but socks on his long feet.

His face was devoid of expression as he watched her approach and when she sat down on a bar stool at the kitchen counter, he leaned across it and inspected her face carefully.

“You’ve been crying,” he said, his choked voice contradicting that expressionless face.

“Hormones,” she said, even though they both knew it was a lie.

“Hormones?” His hand tentatively cupped her cheek. “Not husband?”

“Maybe thirty percent hormones and seventy percent husband?” she amended and moved her head back slightly—not ready for this contact—until he dropped his hand.

He shuddered and sighed, the sound filled with regret.

“Fern, I shouldn’t have?—”

“No, Cade,” she interrupted him quickly. “I’m glad it’s out in the open, okay? I’m glad you told me how you feel, it makes me understand… realize…”

She couldn’t quite formulate her thoughts and shook her head mutely, wishing she could find the right words.

“Later, okay?” he muttered. “Let’s eat first. I made some toasted cheese sandwiches. Nothing fancy. I’m not that great in the kitchen.”

He went to the other end of the kitchen and returned seconds later to drop a plate of toasted sandwiches and a steaming mug of hot chocolate on the kitchen counter in front of her.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “Will you join me?”

“Yes. Even though, it’s a little late to be eating.”

“I grew up in a boarding school,” she said, just to fill thespace and alleviate some of the painful awkwardness. “I’m all about the midnight feasts.”

“You had midnight feasts?”

She laughed—the sound strained—then shook her head and sat down at the kitchen counter, he joined her, choosing to stand on the other side, so that he could face her while they ate.

“Not really, but I read a lot of Enid Blyton when I was a child. The books were really vintage but there wasn’t anything more current available in the school library. The faculty had strong, negative opinions on anything involving wizards, witches, and vampires. The books really made the midnight feasts sound awesome though.”

“Didn’t any of your dorm mates sneak in other reading material?”

“A few did, but getting caught with one wasn’t worth the risk. Nobody wanted toilet cleaning duties for a month.”

Cade took a bite from his toastie while his eyes remained riveted to her face.

“Sounds downright Dickensian,” he muttered around a mouthful of food and she smiled half-heartedly, while picking at the crust of her sandwich with her thumb and index finger. “What kind of parents would send their kids to what sounds like a fucking prison?”

“Well, the schoolwaswell known for its strict discipline, so it usually attracted the so-called no-hopers. Girls who’d been kicked out of several schools before and had nowhere else to go.”

“So, Abernathy sent you to what technically amounted to a reform school?” he asked in horror and put his sandwich down, as if he’d lost his appetite.

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