Page 26 of Tender Heart
Luckily for me, she stands unsure and fidgeting like if the real world can see who she really is, she’ll fall apart.
“Romance, then?” I ask, hazarding a guess.
“There’s romance in it,” she says, shifting on her feet.
“What’s the main story?” It’s like getting blood out of a stone.
“Um, fantasy. Pirates and all that.” She waves a hand in a half circle, not looking at me.
“Sounds fun?” I raise an eyebrow at her again for the second time in an hour. And if her chest wasn’t rising and plummeting like she’s about to have a panic attack, I’d push further. But I’m not that man, the one who gets off on making women feel small, so I don’t.
Not that the small town I grew up in would verify that statement.
“Not really, not anymore,” she says. She sounds defeated.
Not anymore.
Her words take me aback.
Like it’s something that she loved once before but no longer does. “What changed?”
Deep for a conversation between us, I guess. But what else do we have to do?
Now, brown eyes flick up, and she purses her lips before folding her arms over her body. She looks like a deer caught in the proverbial headlights, and I hate it. A stone grows in my airway, and I have no idea why I am feeling this way over a woman almost half my age, who I have made a point to stay away from.
A woman who is temporarily on my island. Temporarily in my life.
Old wounds, scabbed but never fully healed, seep through my soul, burying their way into my bones. Some days are better than others, but right now, the ache blooms to life as I watch her work through whatever is going through her mind.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me. Just killing time.”
I wander to the cabin and open the small cooler, fishing out two sodas before returning to the stern and handing her one.
“Thanks,” she breathes.
I crack mine open and swallow the first few mouthfuls down. We stand in silence, simply staring out at the water, and a million things I want to ask—and a few things I want to say—fly through my mind. Staving off the need to fill the quiet, I continue drinking. Evie nurses hers as she moves to sit on the side of the boat and trails a finger through the condensation on the can. Her elegant digit tracks the logo before rounding the bottom and gripping the cold can between both hands.
“I used to love writing fantasy and romance. Romantasy, they call it.” A sad smile slips over her face.
“Yeah?”
I sit beside her, leaving enough deck between us that we don’t touch. Just.
“But...” She inhales and closes her eyes briefly. “Then, my husband died.”
My mouth slackens, and I can’t catch my next breath.That, I was not expecting.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” I say quietly.
Evie huffs a laugh, but it’s as sad and strained as the look that now claims her face. “Me too.” Downing the last of her soda, she meets my gaze. “It was five years ago. Car accident.”
“Fuck, that’s terrible.”
“It was that and more. My wedding dress was ruined,” she says with a forced lilt, eyes lifting to the sky.
As the words register, my gut sinks, lungs stalling out. “Christ, Evie.”
She scrunches up her face, desperate to stem tears. But it takes her by surprise, and one falls.
