Page 8 of Make Mine Sweet
She lifts the hand not holding the bag. “No. It’s nothing like that. We just, uh…”
After the interrogations complete strangers have seen fit to impose on me when they catch a glimpse of my leg, I try not to ask too many questions. I don’t want to be that guy nosing into sensitive topics. But Tess’s reluctance to give a straight answer about where she used to live piques my curiosity.
Shepiques my curiosity, something I’m actively trying to ignore. Failing horribly, but trying.
“Are you escaping some kind of cult situation?”
The sound that bursts out of her is half gasp, half laugh. “No! Gosh! We lived with my mother and sister, okay? Nothing as exciting as a cult.”
Her cheeks grow pink, but there has to be more to it than that. If she had any idea how many climbers I knew well into their thirties and forties who funded their lifestyle by living with their parents, she wouldn’t be half so embarrassed.
But I don’t say any of that. I just nod and carry her bags into the house.
“Thank you for all your help,” she says as soon as I’ve set down her things. “It went so much quicker than if I’d been working alone.”
“It’s fine.”
“I’d offer you something cold to drink, but I don’t have any food yet. We’re going to the grocery store as soon as we finish up here. I could bring you something by after we get back.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I start to move closer to the door. I don’t need this many thanks for lugging a few things inside for her. Especially not when it’s taking all my focus to keep my eyes off her.
“If you ever want suggestions of places to go in town or outdoorsy activities around?—”
“I don’t.” My “outdoorsy activities” days are long gone.
Her smile falters, and I regret my sharp tone. But I don’t need another person trying to convince me how great life can be if I just get back out there and give it a try. I’d rather stick to socializing exclusively with my dog.
“Right. Because of when you were here before.”
Her cheeks go pink again, but I can’t connect why. Must be the warm day—temperature’s creeping up, and on a clear day like this it feels hotter than it really is. Almost makes me wish I wasn’t wearing sweatpants. But I’m not that much of a masochist.
I step out onto the porch and find Dutch cuddled up with her kid. You’d think I ignore the poor dog all day, the way he’s eating up the attention.
“I love your dog, Mister.” The kid gazes up at me, his eyes the same bright blue as his mom’s.
“His name isIan,” Tess says from behind me. “And it’s time for Dutch to go home.”
“Dutch is my new best friend.”
Tess’s laugh rings out, tempting me to turn around to witness it. I want to see her wide smile and the crinkles around her eyes. But I keep my focus on my front door. Stay the course.
“I saw that coming,” she says. “You make best friends everywhere.”
Her voice is threaded with so much love, everything inside me itches to tilt toward her like a sunflower. Makes sense she’d live in a town called Sunshine. She’s made of the stuff.
It’s got to be the isolation making me think these ridiculous thoughts. Her softness and sweetness are a novelty, nothing more. She’s not directing that affection toward me.
If she did, though, I’d be worse than Dutch, eagerly eating up her crumbs.
I push open my front door and whistle for my dog. He stands, and the little boy gives him one last hug before he trots over.
“See you later, boy!” August calls.
“Go wash your hands so we can go to the grocery store,” Tess tells him. As soon as he runs inside their half of the duplex, she turns her attention to me. “Thank you again for helping me with all the?—”
“It’s not a problem.” But it will be if she thanks me again.
She purses her lips, and we have a brief stare down. Too bad for her, I have a lot of practice with out-staring people these days.
