Page 59 of Until the Storm Breaks
“That’s not what I meant,” I say, exasperated. “Maren, you’re the most capable person I’ve ever met. You could probably run this entire town single-handed. But that doesn’t mean you should have to do everything alone.”
“What are you trying to do here, Calvin? Save me?” Her voice drips with disdain. “Is that what this is? Some white knight complex?”
“No,” I say firmly. “I’m not trying to save you. I’m trying to...” I run my hand through my hair again, searching for the right words. “I’m trying to show you that you matter. That someone gives a damn whether you have a place to live while you’re busy making sure everyone else is fine.”
“Why?” she challenges, stepping closer now, getting in my space. “Why do you care so much? You barely know me.”
“You really don’t know?” I laugh, but it comes out bitter. “I’vebeen following you around like a lovesick teenager since I got here and you haven’t noticed?”
Her mouth opens, then closes. She blinks. “What?”
“The mornings in the kitchen. Coming to the bar just to see you. Fixing things at the cabin that didn’t really need fixing. The book.” I shake my head at my own transparency. “I thought I was being obvious.”
“You were being... neighborly,” she says, but uncertainty creeps into her voice now.
“Neighborly,” I repeat, tasting the word. “Right. Because I regularly spend my evenings watching my neighbor work just because I’m neighborly. Because I hunt down first editions forallmy neighbors.”
She stares at me, processing, recalibrating. “You’re saying you... what?”
“I’m saying I can’t stop thinking about you,” I admit, the words coming out rough, unplanned. “I’m saying I wake up listening for you through the walls. But that’s not what this is about.”
“It’s not?” Her voice is smaller now, confused.
“No,” I say. “Whether you’re interested in me or not, that’s separate. You can tell me you hate me for all I care, but I’m not letting you lose the cabin. This is about making sure you don’t lose your home because my family are being assholes.”
“This is insane,” she says, but she’s not moving away. If anything, she’s closer now, close enough that I can see the gold flecks in her eyes, the storm building there, the rapid pulse at her throat.
“Which part?” I ask, my voice dropping. “The part where my family is screwing you over, or the part where I want you so badly I can’t think straight?”
Her breath catches audibly. The sound goes straight through me. “You can’t just say things like that.”
“Why not? It’s true.”
“Because I...” She stops, flustered, color rising in her cheeks like watercolor bleeding across paper. Her hands come up like she’s going to push me away, but they just hover between us, trembling slightly. “Because you’re leaving. Because this is complicated. Because I can’t afford to want things I can’t have.”
“Who says you can’t have it?” I step closer, close enough now that her raised hands brush my chest.
“Reality,” she says, but her voice is breathless now, only a whisper. “Logic. Common sense. The fact that you live in Seattle and I live here. Geography. Jobs. Life. All of it.”
“Details,” I say, and watch her eyes flash again, indignant fire returning.
“Details?” She laughs, sharp and frustrated. “Your entire life is in Seattle. That’s not a detail, Calvin, that’s everything.”
“Facts can change.”
“Stop it,” she says, and now she does push against my chest, but not hard enough to actually move me. Her palms are hot through my shirt, burning handprints. “Stop making it sound simple when it’s not. Stop looking at me like that.”
“Tell me you don’t feel this,” I challenge, my voice rough. “Tell me you haven’t thought about it too.”
“Of course I’ve thought about it,” she snaps, finally pushing hard enough to create space, stepping back. “I’m not blind. You’re...” She gestures at me in frustration. “You’re you. Walking around here all brooding and intense, fixing things with your hands, looking like you want to push me against a wall every time you see me.”
“Is that what you want?” I ask, voice dropping low. “For me to push you against a wall?”
Her eyes go dark, pupils dilating. “That’s not the point.”
“Then what is the point?”
“The point is you can’t just come in here, tell me you have feelings, offer to fix my housing situation, and then leave in a few weeks like none of it happened,” she says, the wordstumbling out fast and angry, her hands gesturing sharply between us. “The point is I can’t do temporary, Calvin. I can’t do casual. Not with you. And that’s all you’re offering.”
