“You two are saints for cleaning up,” she says. “Eliza, walk Reed to his car. I’ll finish this.”
I want to argue, but Esther has a tone that means the discussion is over. So, I grab my jacket and follow Reed outside into the cold December air.
“Thank you,” he says when we reach his car. “For including me today. Your family is… They’re really special.”
“They like you,” I say, which is true. Eva spent ten minutes explaining her online presence to him, and even Koa—who’s protective of all of us—seemed charmed by Reed’s earnest questions about plant life in New Zealand.
“Did they?” Reed asks, and something in his voice makes my chest tight.
“Of course they did. Why wouldn’t they?”
He doesn’t answer, just unlocks his car and turns to face me. In the porch light, his eyes look impossibly sad.
“Reed, what’s?—”
Before I can finish the question, something compels me to step closer and press my lips to his cheek. It’s meant to be a friendly gesture, a thank-you for being so good with my family despite whatever’s bothering him.
But when my lips touch his skin, everything changes. His breath catches, his hand comes up to rest lightly on my waist, and suddenly we’re standing much too close in the winter air.
I pull back, flustered, and Reed’s looking at me with an expression of such hope and confusion that it makes my heart race.
“Goodnight,” I say quickly, backing toward the house.
“Eliza, wait?—”
But I’m already at the front door, fumbling with the handle and definitely not looking back at his car as he drives away.
Inside, Esther’s waiting with two cups of tea and a knowing expression.
“So,” she says, settling onto the couch. “Want to tell me why that boy looked like someone stole his lunch money?”
I sink into the chair across from her, touching my lips where I can still feel the warmth of his cheek. “I have no idea.”
The lie tastes bitter, because I have a terrible feeling I do know. And if I’m right, I’ve just made everything infinitely more complicated.
16
Eliza
I spend Sunday night and Monday morning replaying Reed’s face when he left Esther’s house. That expression of hope and confusion, like he wanted to believe something good might happen but couldn’t quite trust it.
I know that feeling.
By midmorning, I’ve fed the goats, mucked stalls, and run out of excuses to avoid what I need to do. Reed looked destroyed at the cookie exchange, and I’m pretty sure I know why. The timing of his mood shift, the way he went all polite and distant—he heard me talking about “someone like him” before he knocked.
Which means I hurt him, and despite all my fears about rich boys and power dynamics, the thought of Reed thinking I see him as some entitled asshole makes my stomach twist. Even more after the way he acted with my family. He folded right into our tornado.
I load Chiron and the girls into the trailer and head to the ivy-covered warehouse Reed hooked me up with, telling myself I’m just doing my job. I am unable to let go of my guilt, but when I get the goats situated to finish their work—with a duly reinforced fence—instead of heading home, I drive north to the Sustainable Innovation Incubator.
Reed’s car sits in the parking lot, so I know he’s here. I sit in my truck for five minutes, trying to figure out what I’m going to say.
Hey, sorry you overheard me having a breakdown about my trust issues?
Delete.
Want to discuss how my abandonment issues make me sabotage good things?
Delete.
