He gave a weird half-laugh, then hopped out and quickly came around to her side. After opening her door, he stepped back, giving her a wide berth to get down. Once she was standing gingerly on the concrete floor, she waited for him to lead the way.
He didn’t move.
“Well?”
He grimaced. “Sorry, I was waiting for you to move. Your duffle bag…”
She spun around, her head swimming a little, and the whole garage tilted dangerously.
“Hey there,” he said softly, catching her by the elbow with one hand, his other hand steadying her in the middle of her back.
“My bag,” she said breathlessly. She hadn’t even thought about it.
She hadn’t really packed for this trip—California to New York, where she kept a complete wardrobe, with a single day stop in Pine Harbour. But at least her small travel case had her makeup and toiletries, and a change of clothes.
“It was in the trunk of the rental. I grabbed it before I left the car at the autobody shop.”
“Thank you.” She meant it.
She reached for the bag, but he waved her off. “You just focus on getting up the stairs without falling over.”
He showed her through a small office, covered in stacks of paper, to a dark staircase that turned twice on tight landings before opening up to a larger landing upstairs. There were two doors, one with glass that looked out at an exterior staircase. If it weren’t pretty dark out there right now, she guessed it would look out over whatever was behind the garage. And the other door opened to—
It’s not much.
That was an understatement.
They were standing in a living room of sorts. A faded couch. A TV on the wall. A coffee table in between that had a laptop open on it, and a notepad next to that, covered in dark blue inky scrawl, and a few greasy fingerprints.
Behind that was a kitchenette with yellowing linoleum on the floor and, inexplicably, behind the counter as a makeshift backsplash. There was a basic white fridge, and an off-white electric stove. A bowl of red apples and a small black microwave sat on the counter, which was otherwise clear.
It was tidy, but very sad looking.
Josh hadn’t exactly decorated his apartment in California, either, but it hadn’t looked like something straight out of the 1970s.
He gestured away from the kitchenette, to two side by side doors. “Bedroom and bathroom are through there.”
“I can…the couch is fine…” She swallowed hard. “Josh, I know this is hard for you. It’s hard for me, too. And I appreciate it. Thank you.”
“Don’t.” He shook his head. “Don’t thank me for anything. Just go to sleep and don’t hurt your brain, okay?”
She unzipped her boots and set them neatly on the boot tray next to the door.
“Let me take your vest,” Josh said, moving around her, shifting the quiet air in a way she found distracting and confusing.
She slid it off, into his hands. He was close enough she felt heat radiating off his tense body, and for a second, she thought he was going to touch her.
She could almost hear his voice, a low murmur in her ear, sayingGod, I’ve missed you, Mon.
But he didn’t say it.
Because he didn’t feel it.
Instead, he curved his hand around her upper arm just long enough to turn her towards the bedroom, then his touch dropped away.
As perfunctory as possible.
Fatigue draped around her like a heavy cloak as she moved in that direction.
