Page 98 of All We Need

“ThatI’msad we have to leave this bed,”Isay honestly.

“Hmm.Wannaplay hooky with me tomorrow?”

I’d do anything to burrow into these sheets, getting lost in them with him.

But for the first time since stepping foot in town, the nauseating nervousness isn’t that bad.

“What’s the scariest thing you’ve ever done?”Iask quietly.

“Oh, umm…”Somethingflickers in his eyes before he blinks it away. “I’mnot sureI’vedone it yet.OrifIever will.Iguess that doesn’t count.”Igive him a pointed look and he chuckles before his gaze turns somber. “Sayinggoodbye to my dad was pretty scary; knowing that was it.Iwouldn’t catch him stealing food from the kitchen whenMomwasn’t looking or be blinded by the flash of his ancientPolaroidcamera as he captured family moments.”Sadnesslaces his smile. “I’dlike to be braver.Whatabout you?”

My head flops against the pillow andIstare at the cracks in the ceiling. “I’mtrying to be brave too.”

I haven’t venturedto this side of town before.It’sdifferent from the endless coastline stretching across the bay.

Rolling hills, vast pine forests, and snowy mountain peaks.Duringthe warmer months,Iimagine tall grass and wildflowers adorn the horizon.Now, it’s blanketed in white.Achill sets in my bones, that has nothing to do with the weather and more to do with the building at the end of the drive.

Camouflaged into its surroundings with its off-white batten siding and shutters, sits a farmhouse.Patchesof red peek out under the snow-covered roof.Nota lot of farming happens this time of year, but asItake in the fields surrounding the house,Ipicture blueberry fields and cornfields.

It’s huge; once a family home.

Much too big for one person.

Gravel kicks against the underside of my car untilIcome to a stop next to a dark blue pickup.

A part of me hoped he wouldn’t be home.

But as the front door opens, revealing the one personI’vespent weeks avoiding,Icling onto the determination from last night like a lifeline.

I reach into the pockets of my coat, searching for my gloves, when my fingertips brush against something hard.Iremove my left hand to reveal a plastic red rose.Boothhas no idea whyI’mhere—in this town or sitting outsideMartinWillis’shouse.Thistiny gesture from him gives me the final shoveIneed.

My boots crunch on the ground asIstep out.Thethick parka and hatI’mwearing suffocate me asMartinwatches me curiously.

“Alessandra, everything okay?Didyou call?” he asks worriedly.

I shake my head, hands fisted in my pockets asIstop a few feet away. “No.Sorry, maybeIshould have.Ifnow isn’t a good time,Ican come back.”

Please say you’re busy.

“It’s fine.Please, please, come in and out of the cold.”Hegestures inside, and with a heavy exhale, my fingers white-knuckling around the rose,Istep through the doorway.

It’s fine.

This isn’t likelasttime.

I can do this.Ican do this.Ican do this.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

booth

“Behind!”Ishout.

My chefs make room for me asIstomp toward the sink and slap on the faucet.Asigh of relief escapes when the cold water soothes the burned skin on my palm.It’sgoing to blister like a bitch.IwatchedSimonremove the cast-iron skillet from the oven moments earlier, but my thoughts have been elsewhere all afternoon.

“You all right,Chef?”Simoncalls.

Nodding,Iuntie my apron with my free hand and fling it over my shoulder. “I’mgonna take a break whileIget this wrapped up.Yougood?”

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