Page 71 of Take Me Home

There was a flicker of emotion in his eyes, a word on the tip of his tongue, muscles on the verge of release. He looked raw. Just as quickly as the glimmer of vulnerability appeared, though, it vanished. He performed polite greetings with her father and the others and accepted an invitation Hazel only half registered to enter a gingerbread house competition.

She heard herself say, “Great. I’m with the architect,” and looped her arm through his, as though she were completely fine, as though he were a boyfriend she’d brought home to meet herparents. Sometimes, it came so easily to plaster over imperfections, to sell an image. She hated herself for it a little bit.

Her father had probably intended for them to build the gingerbread house together, as a group, rather than in competition with each other, but he smiled his TV smile and clapped a hand to Ash’s shoulder. “Architect, huh?” He cast her an approving look, which immediately soured her on the entire concept of introducing any boyfriend to him ever.

“Not yet,” Ash said modestly.

“Lot of school for that. You two study a lot together?”

When she didn’t respond because she couldn’t uncross her emotional wires without tripping a bomb, Ash rescued them. “No, not together.”

Not together. She was only half following the conversation, having some kind of out-of-body experience, and she thought Ash was telling her dad they weren’t in a relationship. Which wastrue. But him clarifying it so quickly and easily stung a little.

Ash’s easy grin reappeared now, for her father. “She’s very focused. In fact, I don’t exist while she’s working. I just keep her caffeinated and wait for her to resurface.” He looked teasingly down at her, like she might jump in all,Ha ha, funny story, guys, and explain about their rivalry over the green chair and the outlet, like some meet-cute in a movie.

She could imagine a scenario where she did explain about the chair and the way, now that he’d mentioned it, whenever she finally leaned back from her laptop screen and stretched, Ash was nearly always already rounding the counter with a refill, like he’d been waiting for his cue. Even when she’d been single-minded about their rivalry, Ash had been something else. There. Attentive. Thoughtful. Which was why it hurt, this little charade, putting his best foot forward with her father—not so differentfrom the charade she played with her father herself—two seconds after he’d been closed off with her.

Val said, “Well, you may have the official training, but I know my way around some gingerbread.”

Hazel slipped her arm out of Ash’s. He hadn’t responded when she’d taken it, and he didn’t respond when she let him go.

—

“I thought you’d be good at this,” Hazel said when their gingerbread walls collapsed yet again.

“Why would I be good at this?”

“You make dollhouses for fun.” She squirted a giant glob of icing between two cookie slabs.

Across the large tent, her father and Val were already paving their roof with candies while she and Ash couldn’t get two walls to stay up. Lucy and Raf had declined to join, which Hazel hadn’t realized was an option.

After his performance with her father, Ash had gone right back to quiet and tense and, frankly, kind of miserable, passing her icing and sprinkles without comment, leaving her to do most of the work. She’d tried to catch his eye, to make him laugh, especially when the kids at the next table started jamming jelly beans in each other’s noses, but he was in his own world.

“I makemodels. Withglue.” Ash pointed out, grabbing her hand.

“Hey—”

He turned her wrist. She’d smeared icing along her thumb. His dark eyes held hers for a long moment. When he lifted her hand like he was going to lick it off, her heart stuttered in anticipation, wanted that playful, cute version of him back at the table.

But he swiped the icing with his finger instead, popped it into his mouth, and grumbled, “Gingerbread houses are actually really annoying.”

His guardedness coupled with his unexplained delay left her adrift where, at least lately, she’d grown used to a strong foothold. Her stomach clenched, and it wasn’t from the caramel popcorn.

Just two things she’d needed from him today: to show up when he said he would and to make a damn gingerbread house.

“What was that?”

Apparently, she’d said this out loud.

“Are you mad at me?” He was quiet, resigned, like he was already far too burdened for her slip of frustration.

Well,thatmade her kind of mad. “No,” she said. “Why would I be mad at you?”

“So, you are.” He ran a hand down his face and back up, raking his fingers harshly through his hair. “I’m sorry I was late, all right?”

She laughed. “Fine.”

“Don’t do that.”

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