Even if so far I’m failing spectacularly.
“Yeah.” The word comes out quieter than intended. “I think it actually might be.”
She studies me for a long moment. Those brown eyes seeing more than I want them to. Seeing through me in a way no one has in years.
And then she shrugs and goes back to her book without comment.
The fire pops.
Sparks drift up the chimney.
Outside the storm continues its relentless assault against the windows.
I settle back into the sectional and close my eyes.
But I can still see her behind my eyelids.
Can still smell coconut shampoo and woodsmoke.
Can still feel the phantom weight of her in my arms from last night.
Tomorrow the storm might break.
Tomorrow we might get communications back.
Tomorrow we might go our separate ways.
But today we’re just two people sharing warmth by a fire.
Two people fighting the cold.
And I’m... I’m fighting something else, too.
Thispulltoward her that makes no fucking sense.
Christ, listen to me. Acting like there’s something mutual here.
She hates my fucking guts.
Made that crystal clear this morning when she found out who I am.
What I’ve done.
I poisoned her grandmother’s village and now I’m sitting here cataloging the curve of her neck like some kind of obsessed asshole.
This attraction of mine... it’s just one problem among a series of problems.
A problem I need to bury deep until this disaster ends and she can get the hell away from me.
Which is exactly what she’ll do.
And then I can go back to being alone.
Where I belong.
7
Sorrel
