Page 142 of Prodigal Son

He reached under the desk and pulled out a second glass, tilting it in offering. When she nodded, her poured her a generous finger and slid it over.

“I thought you’d be on a plane by now.”

A fluttering in her chest, nerves that weren’t pleasant. “We leave tomorrow around noon.”

He nodded, and picked his pencil back up.

“That’s actually why I walked over,” she began, hesitant. She hated the waver in her voice, but found she couldn’t smooth it. “I agreed to go work for Eden in Knoxville.”

“Yeah.” His gaze flicked up, sharp and bright through his lashes. “That’s why I figured you’d be on a plane.” It dropped again.

Axelle took a sip of her drink. “This is…okay, I’ve thought about it, and there’s not a great way to say this.” Not one that didn’t make her sound pathetic. “But I feel like…like there’s something here. I know there is.”

He sat up properly, and really looked at her. “Something?”

“Between us.” She gestured for added effect, between the two of them. “I mean. I know you like me. And I like you.”

“Like.” His smile was fast, and cruel, a slice across his face. “That sounds like kids in school.”

Her face warmed. He wasn’t flowery or emotional, but this had taken a bad turn faster than expected. She scowled at him. “You kissed me.”

His eyes dropped again.

“Don’t pretend like that didn’t mean something.”

He shrugged.

“Albie.” Fuck it; might as well be honest and just go for it. “You’re really depressed, okay? I can see it. Everyone can. I walked in here, and you looked sad. And I know all this with your dad, and your secret assassin brother is really getting to you, and you’re in here with your – yourfurniture. And it’s not healthy. You’re spiraling.”

He lifted his head again, his glare dangerous this time. “Are you my shrink now?”

She refused to back down. “No. I’m someone who cares about you, and who wants you to be happy and healthy. I’m asking you to come with us. To come with me.” She started to shake. She’d never asked such a thing of a man, not even her own father. Had never looked at him and said,Take care of yourself for me. Be here for me, because I’m selfish, and I love you, and I don’t want to see you dead.

Albie sat back on his stool, hands braced on the counter. Expression impossible to read. “My life is here,” he said firmly.

“Your shop is here,” she countered. “And you can set one up in Knoxville. Southerners love handmade shit. North Carolina is like Handmade Furniture Heaven.”

“My family–”

“Half of them are already in Tennessee.”

“I don’t care!” It wasn’t a shout, but close enough. He shook his head hard, teeth bared. “I don’t care, okay? This is my shop. This is my home.”

She’d expected this, to a certain extent.

But there’d been a part of her – silly and self-indulgent – that had imagined falling into one another’s arms, a kiss like the last one, better, deeper, skin-on-skin and a reprieve from the endless ache of loneliness.

She swallowed. “And that’s the most important thing, right?” she said, flatly.

He swallowed, too. “Yeah.”

Axelle threw back her whiskey and stood up. “Nice meeting you, Albie. Have a nice life.”

She walked out, and she didn’t let herself look back.

Not even half a block away, when tears filled her eyes.

~*~

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