“No need. I’m going to the store.”
I turn on my heel and head for the door. I don’t ask him if he needs anything. If he does, he can figure out how to get it for himself.Unbearable, stubborn, mule of a man.I snatch my purse and keys, then slam the door behind me. Every time I think we’ve taken a step forward, it’s like he jogs a mile backward. I don’t know how much longer I can do this.
Chapter eighteen
Brock Jones
It’s been well over an hour since Ariel left. I pace the length of the living room. She didn’t answer my call ten minutes ago, but service on the mountain is abysmal. It takes twenty minutes to get to the store, and twenty back. She shouldn’t have spent more than twenty minutesinthe store. I guess she could have decided to spend as much time away as possible after our argument, but I would think she would have at least texted me that she was going to be gone for a while.
There’s no way for me to leave because she took the only car. My best bet would be to walk down the mountain and hope I find her. I groan as I pace. Why did I let her go by herself? Why was I so rude before she left?
A churning feeling begins deep in my stomach. I walk to the door and fling it open, only to find Ariel pulling into the driveway.
Relief washes over me like a cool breeze. She gets out of the car, toting a plastic grocery bag with her.
“What are you doing?” she asks. By the sound of her voice, the distance did not make her heart grow fonder of me.
“You’d been gone for a while. I was worried something had happened.”
She scoffs and brushes past me. “Yeah, right.”
“I’m serious,” I say as I shut the door behind us.
She heads for the back door. I follow her onto the balcony. The sunset has painted everything in warm gold, including Ariel. Her tan is deeper in this light, and her dark brown hair has streaks of caramel peeking through.
“I’d ask how you could care about anyone when your job owns your very soul, but you told me not to talk to you about that anymore,” she says sharply as she removes the grated dome on top of the firepit. I’m not sure it’s a good idea to be near a fire with a woman this angry, but I’ll have to take my chances.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have said that.”
She squats down and opens a door on the firepit that reveals a propane tank. “Maybe?”
“Okay, I shouldn’t have said it, but in all fairness, you were pushing too hard.”
She twists the propane valve, then closes the door and turns a knob. Flames ignite in the rocks.
“I’m trying to get you to see what I see,” she says in a tight voice.
“But you don’t understand my point of view either.”
She throws her hands in the air. “Because you won’t share it with me! How am I supposed to know how you feel if all you give me are random lines about legacy?”
My shoulders hunch forward. “I’m not real big on opening up.”
She snorts. “I hadn’t noticed.”
I give her a flat look. “But I have been trying. It’s not easy when, instead of hearing me out, you tear down what I’m saying.”
Plastic rustles as she pokes around the grocery bag. “Maybe you have a point.”
“Maybe?” I echo.
She ducks her head to attempt to hide a smile. “I could listen better. Iwilllisten better.”
I dip my chin. “Thank you. I’ll try to be more open.” Even if the idea is akin to surgery without anesthesia.
“Thank you.” She pulls out a bag of marshmallows. “Want a s’more?”
“Are you going to force me to talk about my feelings while we make them?”