Eliza smiles, looking like I’ve passed some sort of test, and busies herself ladling soup, not meeting my eyes.
“Eliza…” I start carefully.
“Dig in,” she says and clanks her spoon against mine before taking a bite.
We eat in relative silence, the only sounds being the storm outside and the occasional crackle from the fire. The canned soup is good; I think it’s alphabet soup, which I always wanted as a kid, but my mother refused to serve. The accompanying cookies taste even better than they did at the exchange.
“What would you be eating tonight if you had electricity?” I ask, suppressing a moan at the buttery flavor of the cookie.
Eliza shrugs and finishes her soup. “This… but warm.” She laughs despite herself, and the sound loosens something in my chest. This feels normal, easy, like we could do this every night and never get tired of it.
“This is nice.” I regret the words when she tenses.
“It’s just dinner.”
“Is it?”
Eliza sets down her spoon, that guarded expression creeping over her features. “Reed?—”
“We’re snowed in together, eating by candlelight, and you just helped me into borrowed pajamas. You said I’m cute. If this isn’t at least a little romantic, I’m seriously misreading the situation.”
“You’re injured. I’m being practical.”
“Are you?”
She stands abruptly, moving toward the window. “I should check on the animals.”
“In a blizzard?”
“They might be scared. The wind’s really picking up.”
“Eliza, you can’t go out in this.”
“I can’t?” Her voice sharpens. “Since when do you decide what I can and can’t do?”
I struggle to my feet, wincing as weight hits my ankle. “Since it’s dangerous and unnecessary. Your animals have shelter, food, and water. They’re fine.”
“You don’t know that.”
“You’re willing to risk your safety to avoid talking to me.”
“I’m not avoiding anything.” She yanks on boots and tugs her scarf in place. Aggressively dressing, if that’s possible.
I furrow my brow. “Really? Because every time things get real between us, you find a reason to leave.”
“That’s not—” She spins to face me, eyes flashing. “You don’t understand.”
“Then explain it to me.”
“I can’t… I’m not good at this, Reed. Feelings and relationships and all that emotional bullshit. I take care of animals and run a business and keep my sisters from killing each other. That’s what I’m good at.”
“You’re good at taking care of people, too,” I counter. “You took care of me tonight. A few times, actually.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
She grabs her coat from the hook by the door. “I’m checking on them.”
