Page 18 of The Wrong Drive-
“Do you have family around here?”
He stares at his plate, freezing at the question. “No.” He shakes his head in a quick succession, and then begins to eat.
My hands still tremble as I retrieve the utensils and cut into the steak. “I don’t like the holidays all that much anymore.” I don’t know why my mouth is still moving, but I’m desperate to make friends—or something.
“Yeah, happens.” He forks a bite of broccoli into his mouth.
I nod, following suit. “Thank you for dinner,” I say, swallowing.
He looks across the table at me, holding my gaze long enough for my heart to skip a few beats. “You’re welcome, Em.” His voice drops when he says my nickname, I hang on it, staring at his mouth.
I roll my lips together. “What do you like to do for fun?”
“I don’t have fun,” he chuckles, his knife slicing through the meat as he pauses. “But I used to do a lot of things.”
“Yeah?” I don’t press as to why he doesn’t have fun anymore. I just focus on what he’ll give me—like I read once in a book about a woman surviving a serial killer. Not that Turner is one. But hecouldbe. “What did you do?”
“I liked to hike a lot,” he says, shrugging.
“You look like you still do,” I blurt.
He looks up at me, and Iswearthere’s a brief flicker of amusement, but it fades to something distant. “I also liked music, trucks, work… Normal shit.”
I smile softly. “You don’t do any of that anymore?”
Turner shakes his head, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “No. I stay here mostly.”
“And you never leave?”
He hesitates, like he’s about to say something first but holds off another few moments. “Not really. I used to though. This was my parents’ cabin, then my brother’s, then mine.”
“I have a sister,” I say, offering up something about myself to help with peeling back the layers of him. Something about him pulls at me, and that distance in his eyes is as alluring as it is unsettling. For some reason, Iwantto know more about him. Maybe it’s the stereotypical draw of the mysterious stranger—or maybe it’s that self-preservation kicking in. Keeping your enemy close or whatever.
But he’s not an enemy, really. Or is he?
“You can sleep in my room,” his voice interrupts my thoughts. “I shouldn’t make you stay on the couch. I’ll sleep there.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I reason. “You’re way too big for the couch.”
“I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“Seems unfair,” I say, cutting off a piece of steak and popping it in my mouth. It’s definitely venison, based on the gamey flavor. Turner studies me as I chew and swallow. “It’s good,” I tell him, taking a gander that’s what he was waiting for.
“It’s edible.”
I laugh. “Isn’t that all that matters?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
And then healmostsmiles again.
Chapter 7
Turner
Maybe this won’t be sohard. She appears easy to please, and I like her laugh when it comes naturally. I finish what she doesn’t, and she stands at the same time as me, picking up her own plate.
“I can do the dishes,” she offers, holding out her hand to me. “It’s only fair since you cooked.”
