Page 11 of Out of the Dark

Before I can stop myself, I'm opening the door and following the smell to the kitchen.

Mark stands at the counter and unloads what appears to be several containers of Chinese takeout. He looks up when I enter the room.

"Perfect timing," he says, gesturing to the spread of food. "I might have ordered too much."

"Oh, I wouldn't want to—"

"I want you to," he interrupts. "Seriously, I got enough for both of us on purpose. Please eat."

There's something in his tone that shows me thesentiment is genuine, so I take the seat across from him at the table.

He opens containers while explaining what each dish is, and I accept his offer to split the food onto separate plates so we can each sample everything.

"I have to go back to work on Tuesday," I tell him as he starts eating. "So I'll be out of your hair soon. Thank you for letting me stay as long as I have."

Mark pauses with his chopsticks halfway to his mouth. "So, you're planning to go back to living in your car?"

I drop my gaze and chew my lip, trying to figure out how to answer that without seeming like I’m trying to guilt-trip him into letting me stay. "Yes, but it won’t be too much longer, only until I can save up enough for—"

"No." He shakes his head. "Don't do that. Just stay here."

I meet his stare and will my expression to stay neutral. "I don’t want to be any more of a burden than I already have been. You’ve helped me so much already, but I can manage on my own now that the storm’s over." It’s obvious he feels uncomfortable having me here sometimes, that he’s unsure of how to behave when someone else is occupying his space.

"You’re not a burden. And frankly, I’d rather know you're safe here than worry about you sleeping in your car in the middle of winter."

His words take root in my head. Being told something so simple—that I’m not a burden—shouldn’t have such a strong effect on me, yet for some reason it does. "I’m not sure. I mean, we hardly know anything about each other."

A small smile plays at the corners of his lips as he leans back in his chair. "Let's fix that then."

The way he's looking at me makes my stomach flip, though I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because no one has everlooked at me like that before—like they actually want to know who I am, not the person they expect me to be.

It might also be due to the fact that his easy smile is the most charming thing I’ve ever seen.

And if I’m being honest with myself, I want to know him too. Not just the surface details, but the things that make him tick, the reason he lives alone in this big apartment, why he would take in a complete stranger without hesitation.

But those are dangerous thoughts. Getting too comfortable here, letting myself feel too much will only lead to more pain when I inevitably have to leave. Because Iwillhave to leave eventually. Besides, the rational part of my mind is aware that I’m in danger of getting too attached to him simply because he’s the first person to show me genuine kindness since I left home.

The fortune cookie sitting next to my plate seems to mock me with its promises of wisdom. I crack it open, and the slip of paper inside reads: "Sometimes the right path is not the easiest one."

I laugh out loud at the irony. If only it could tell me which path is the right one.

Mark narrows his eyebrows at me, but I just shake my head and fold the small piece of paper before shoving it in my pocket. I realize he’s still waiting for my response to his suggestion.

I should say no. I should gather my things and leave now, before I get too attached to this warmth, this kindness, this man whose smile seems to disarm me in an instant.

But I'm tired of running. Tired of being afraid.

So instead of retreating back to my room, I pick up my chopsticks—which I have no clue how to use—and say, "Okay. Where should we start?"

CHAPTER EIGHT

MARK

"Let's start simple," I suggest as I watch Claire struggle with her chopsticks. "What's your favorite color?" It’s clear she still isn’t quite sure how to react to me, so I don’t want to push her too far too fast.

The question is more of a joke than anything, but she pauses, considering the question with more gravity than it deserves. "I'm not sure. I never really thought about it before."

Something about her response makes me pause. Who doesn't know their favorite color? Or at least hasn’t thought about it? "Okay, well, what color makes you happy when you see it?"

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