As I reach her, I wrestle with the urge to tug her into me. To wrap my arms around her. It seems she does the same, her body gravitating toward me until she realizes what she’s about to do and freezes.
We both stand there. Awkwardly.
Lily chews her lips and slips some of her hair, which is tousled wavier today, behind her ear, and I wish I’d been the one to do it. “Figured I might as well buy the chairs I almost got arrested for.”
She looks up at me and smiles a wicked smile, and I can’t help but notice her nude dry lips, uneven and clearly nibbled on. She must’ve been deep in thought writing.
“Besides, I happened to have some extra money, thanks to someone.” She shifts her weight to one side, cocking her hip, and both her hands come to rest on her waist. “Noah …” She deliberately narrows her gaze at me. “Helping with the labor was more than enough, too much actually. You didn’t have to pay for my car.”
I look down at her, pinching my lips together to keep from laughing at her stance and the defiance she’s so terribly conveying. “When is the last time you let anyone take care of you? I wanted to help you, Lil. Look how much you’ve done for my mom. And I need you to have a working car because I want you to meet me somewhere after your morning shift at the diner on Thursday.”
I freeze—I’ve called her Lil again.
Lily raises her eyebrows. “Meet you somewhere?”
“A trail, unmarked. I think you’d enjoy the hike.”
“You’re not going to take me out there to kill me, are you?” As soon as those words leave her mouth, her smile freezes mid-curve. The light in her eyes flickers and dims like a sudden gust has taken it out. It’s as if a memory strikes her out of nowhere, stealing the joy right off her face.
She hesitates, her lips falling into a tight, thin line partway between a grin and a grimace. Turning from me, her gaze drifts over the fence and beyond. Maybe she’s peering at the group of horses grazing, the shin-high grasses swaying, or the clouds gliding across the distant horizon. Either way, she’s unfocused and the air around her shifts. Instead, the lighthearted moment where I ask her out on a date is stifled by a heaviness that has her shoulder subtly tensing under some invisible weight. Drifting away from me, she folds her arms across her chest and makes her way over to the fence. At first I’m confused, but then she reaches down to retrieve her journal from the trampled grass at the fence line.
While she brushes it off, I approach, unsure really if I should leave this alone, or if I should push her a bit. Surely when my mom said to give her time, she didn’t mean only ten minutes, but I’ll be damned if I let this moment pass like I did in the car.
“Lily,” I say. “I’d never hurt you. I hope you know that.”
She continues to stare at the front of the leather-bound book in her hands, but I don’t miss the single tear escaping from the cornering of her eye.
“I write, you know?” She tsks. “Of course you know. I yelled at you in the hospital for flipping through it.”
I move my hands and tuck them into the pockets of my uniform pants. That garners her attention. “What do you write?”
“Poems mostly.”
I slowly nod, willing her to expound. What kind of poems? Are they just for fun? I doubt it. Part of me wonders if a therapist somewhere down the road told her writing would help her, that it would be therapeutic.
We stand there in silence while she contemplates, and I lift a hand to place on her shoulder.
“I’m not broken,” she blurts. “I know I dumped certaininformationon you, but I’m not broken. The writing helps me. Helps me make sense of my feelings. It’s been years, one would think I would’ve moved on, was able to stop running.”
I hate she feels that way. “Someone took something from you that wasn’t theirs to take. No one would blame you for carrying that around for the rest of your life, but I also don’t think it has to be a burden you carry alone. I want to help you, be there for you. I hope you can see that.”
“I’ve never wanted to tell anyone before you. That includes my parents.”
My mouth drops open. What?
Her own parents don’t know. I hate the man who did this to her. I hate him with everything I have. I’m not naturally a violentperson, but I won’t ever let this go if I find him. He’ll pay. With his life. He won’t be able to?—
“I know what you’re thinking,” she says.
“I highly doubt that.”
With a sigh, she grabs for my hand with her own, pulling me up closer before she turns. My chest brushes her back as my arm drapes over her shoulder—loose yet protective. As if I could keep any outside threats from her.
Forearms resting gently along her collarbone, my fingers relax just above her clavicle while Max nudges himself at her feet in the heel position. I don’t think I’m the only one ready and willing to protect her.
“Braver Hund,” I whisper, and he sits at attention.
“I still have nightmares … or did. To be honest, since I’ve been helping your mom and spending time with you, they’ve been few and far between. Guess that’s good.” She shrugs, and I inhale the fresh scent of smoky vanilla and salted honey layered in her hair as she leans her head back against me.
