Page 78 of Frosting and Flames

Now that surprises me. “You knew?”

Her head tilts to the side. “Well, no. I didn’t know you liked me. But I was very… aware of you. I didn’t understand what it meant at the time.”

Aware of me. God, I was sure she barely knew my name. “Imagine if I’d had the guts to ask you out back then. We could’ve been in a thirteen-year relationship by now,” I joke.

“Ah, yes. Because teenage relationships are known for their maturity that stand the test of time.”

I chuckle. “Fair point. Maybe it’s a good thing we didn’t reconnect until now.”

Her smile turns more somber. “Why didn’t you?”

“What?”

“Ask me out. Back then.” She traces a nonsensical pattern over the surface of the dining room table, looking down at it. There’s a sense of vulnerability around her I’ve rarely seen.

“I didn’t think you noticed me. You were so pretty and smart. Untouchable.” I shrug. “And honestly… I’m glad I didn’t make a move then. I would have fucked it all up. More than I already did, I mean.”

“Why would you have messed it up?” she murmurs, looking at me now.

“When my mom got sick…” I shrug again, now the one not meeting her eye. “I don’t know. I wasn’t in a good place. I would have pushed you away.” The way I did with everyone. Tanner was the only one who stuck by me. And not only after the stuff with my mom, but the fire and juvie, too. I don’t always give him the credit he deserves.

She reaches over and takes my hand. “I’m so sorry you lost her. I can’t imagine how hard that must have been.”

I nod, never knowing how to respond to people’s sympathy about that. I mostly try not to think about it.

“Are you still close with your dad?”

My brows raise. “You didn’t hear?”

“Hear what?”

Ah, fuck. One of the things about living in a small town is you never have to deliver bad news, because everyone’s already heard it.

“He died.”

Her mouth forms a perfect O-shape as her jaw drops. “I didn’t know. Was it recent? I never heard…”

I shake my head. “It was about five years ago. He was driving drunk and died in a crash.”

“I’m so sorry. I—”

I cut her off. “It’s fine. Honestly.”

The look she gives me says,Really?

“We weren’t close,” I explain haltingly. “I hadn’t even spoken to him in years.”

“Why?” she whispers, as if the idea is foreign to her. Yeah, she’s complained about her parents, but they’ve at least been there for her.

My chest goes tight, the same as it does whenever I think about Dad. Which is why I don’t.

“He wasn’t in a good place either, after Mom died. He just stopped… caring.”

“About you?”

I shrug, not knowing how to word it. “About anything. I guess he was depressed or grief-stricken, I don’t know. But it went on for years. He didn’t speak to me much. Nothing I did helped, so eventually I stopped trying. And when I moved out at eighteen, that was it. He never contacted me, so… I didn’t either.”

Her hand squeezes mine, but she’s silent.

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