“Because I’ve known you your entire life, and half of those years you spent cooking in my kitchen.”
“I didn’t realize I ever said that out loud to you, though.”
I set down the salt. “You told my mom once. And Amelia another time. But I overheard.”
Because that’s mostly how things have gone between us. Her telling everyonebut meabout her life, and me paying pathetic, tedious attention to every word leaving her mouth.
“Mr. Pepper is on my bedside table.”
“Of course he is. Do I even want to know why?” I make my way over to the bedroom section of the cottage to retrieve Mr. Pepper from the bedside table and take him back home where he belongs—with Mrs. Salt, by the vase of flowers.
“I was distracted while cleaning and carried it with me.”
Her chest expands on a huge breath as her hands go to her hips. “Why are you still here, James?”
I tilt my head. “Why do you want me to leave so badly?”
“I don’t . . .” She pauses. “I don’t want to tell you.”
“Do I actually stink?”
“No,” she says so passionately it makes me smile. “Don’t get your undies in a wad when I say it, okay? But . . . I’ve been worrying about you a little.”
“Worrying aboutme?” I point to my chest.
She thumps her knuckle in the same spot I just pointed to. “Yes. You. Mr. Not Spun Glass . . . Mr. Man with High Blood Pressure.”
Ah.
“Madison . . .”
“No. This is important. You promised me you would take care of yourself, but you’re still running yourself ragged. You work nonstop wild hours. Refusing to go home and sleep when you should. Did you know you have dark circles under your eyes?”
“No.”
“You do.”
As if to prove her point, she reaches up and gently paints over them with the pad of her index finger. “You’re still not taking care of yourself.”
My shoulders relax. “You don’t have to worry about me, Madison.”
“Mm-hmm. But if I don’t, then who will? Because as I see it, you don’t let anyone worry about you while you’re out there worrying about everyone else.”
“Because I don’t need that.”
Her eyes go soft. “James. Everyone needs someone to worry about them.”
She rubs her palm over my chest, where my heart is beating firmly against my sternum. Like she’s trying to soothe it. Heal whatever is wrong in there.
I push her hair behind her ear before I even realize what I’m doing.
“Hey. I’m really sorry for biting your head off back there with the ‘spun glass’ comment. That was some real toxic masculinity shit. And I . . . I really wanted to come hang out with you here tonight. Can I stay a little longer?”
Her eyes are so brown at night. I look back and forth between them, happily lost in their depths.
“This . . . is the best part of my day so far.Thisis the relaxing part.” I don’t even bother to add some ridiculous line about our friendship to smooth over that statement. I let it fall like a boulder into a lake. I want her to hear the splash.
And Madison is not squeamish when it comes to unexpected feelings or emotions. She welcomes them every second of the day. Which is probably why she doesn’t back away, and instead smiles.
