Page 133 of The Fine Line
But here we are again. And it’s taking me straight back to that plane.
I know she’s thinking about it too.
She’s built a whole life on controlling how people see her, on mastering the art of composure. But unfortunately for her, she’s up against someone who knows a thing or two about fronts. And I’m learning her tells more and more every day.
The way she pulls herself upright, shoulders back like armor. How she opens her eyes wider, like she’s trying to hide the weight in them. And when she’s really trying not to react—the way she chews on the inside of her bottom lip.
Just like she’s doing right now.
My gaze drops to her mouth, and the words tumble out before I can stop them.
“Cub, we needto talk.”
“You’re right.” Her voice is soft. She clears her throat and drops her eyes. “I’m sorry about the wine glass.”
“What?”
“The one I broke. It was from your set. I shouldn’t have used your things.”
“Cub—”
“I’ll clean it up,” she says. “And I’ll replace it?—”
“I don’t give a shit about the wine glass.”
And I know she knows that.
Still, she glances up, unsure. Then back down. “Then what’s wrong?”
She’s nervous.
I’m making her nervous.
“I never said anything was wrong.”
“Then what do you want?”
“Cub,” I say, lowering my head to force her eyes back to mine. “You know.”
Her lips part, but she shakes her head. “No. I don’t.”
I don’t answer. Not right away.
Her breath catches. She shifts like she’s going to move—then actually tries. Tries to hop off the counter.
“Something happened between us.”
I keep my voice low, even though everything in me is burning.
“On that plane.”
She freezes.
Then lets out a laugh through her nose—one of those fake, deflecting ones. Classic Caroline.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” My eyes narrow. “And you don’t have anything to say about that?”
