She paused, hand on the knob, looking back over her shoulder. Hair a wild mess. Lips swollen. Beautiful in a way that made my chest ache.
"Yeah?"
I wanted to say something meaningful. Something that captured the weight of what had just happened between us. Instead, what came out was: "You forgot your socks."
She looked down at her bare feet, let out a strangled laugh, and snatched the socks off the floor. Then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her with a soft finality that left me standing alone in a room that still smelled like her.
I scrubbed a hand over my face and tried to get my breathing under control.
The sound of the front door opening drifted up through the floorboards, followed by Maude's cheerful voice calling out a hello to the empty foyer. I heard the rustle of bags, the soft thud of her purse hitting the entry table, her footsteps moving toward the kitchen.
I finished dressing—jeans, T-shirt, boots laced with the kind of precision that came from muscle memory. Ran my fingers through my hair and caught sight of myself in the small mirror above the dresser.
I looked like I'd been wrecked.
There was no hiding it. The flush hadn't entirely left my face. My eyes were too bright, my mouth curved in a way that felt unfamiliar. I looked satisfied. Happy, even.
Christ.
I splashed water on my face from the small sink in the corner, dried off with a hand towel that smelled faintly of lavender, and told myself to get it together.
By the time I made it downstairs, Hazel was already in the kitchen.
Freshly showered. Hair pulled back in that severe bun she favored, though a few damp curls had already begun their escape, clinging to the nape of her neck in a way that made my hands itch to touch. No makeup. Skin scrubbed clean and glowing faintly pink from the heat of the water. She wore a simple cotton dress—pale blue, nothing fancy—that somehow made her look softer. More vulnerable.
More beautiful than before.
If Maude hadn't been standing three feet away, unloading tinfoil containers onto the counter, I would've backed Hazel against the nearest wall, hiked that dress up, and carried her straight back upstairs.
Instead, I cleared my throat and stepped into the kitchen like a civilized human being.
"Gideon!" Maude beamed at me, hands full of what looked like pulled pork. "Perfect timing. I brought barbecue from Sister Margaret—she makes the best in three counties, I swear it. You two must be starving after all that work on the porch."
Hazel's eyes flicked to mine, just for a second, and the heat in them nearly undid me.
"Starving," I agreed, voice coming out rougher than I meant. "Smells incredible."
"Well, don't just stand there," Maude said, shooing me toward the cabinet. "Plates are up there, glasses to the left. Hazel, honey, can you grab the coleslaw from the fridge?"
We moved around each other in the small kitchen, a careful dance of avoidance and accidental touches. Her fingers brushed mine when she handed me a serving spoon. My shoulder grazed hers when I reached past her for the napkins. Every contact sent sparks skittering under my skin, and from the way her breath hitched, she felt it, too.
Maude kept up a steady stream of chatter as we worked—something about the choir director's new arrangement of "Amazing Grace" and how Sister Margaret's husband had finally fixed the church's leaking baptismal font. I made appropriate sounds of acknowledgment, but most of my attention was on Hazel, who was determinedly not looking at me while she set the table.
We sat down to eat, the three of us crowded around the same table where we'd had lunch. Simple food, but good—tangy barbecue that fell apart at the touch of a fork, creamy coleslaw with just enough bite, cornbread left over that Maude had warmed in the oven.
Maude launched into more stories about the inn, her voice taking on that same nostalgic quality it had before. "There was the honeymoon couple in '92," she said, gesturing with her fork. "Sweet as pie, married all of three days. They checked in late, and the next morning—Lord have mercy—they were down here at dawn asking if we had a hardware store nearby. Turns out the headboard in their room had come loose during the night." She paused, eyes twinkling. "If you know what I mean."
I nearly choked on my cornbread.
Hazel's face went scarlet, and she suddenly became very interested in rearranging the coleslaw on her plate.
Maude continued, oblivious or merciful, I couldn't tell which. "Your grandmother just smiled, handed them a screwdriver, and said 'Young love is hell on furniture.' They stayed the whole week."
I risked a glance at Hazel. She was biting her lip, fighting a smile, and when her eyes met mine the shared amusement there made something warm bloom in my chest.
We were trying so hard to act normal, to not stare at each other across the table like teenagers who'd just discovered what bodies could do. But every time I looked up, I found her lookingat me. And every time she glanced over, I was already watching her.
Her hand resting on the table. The way she tucked that same stubborn curl behind her ear. The small smile that played at her lips when Maude said something funny. The hollow of her throat where I could still see the faint mark I'd left without meaning to.
