My laugh is too loud for such close proximity, but he doesn’t say anything about it. “More of those little notes of yours wouldn’t be so bad.”
“I was thinking bigger than that, but it’s a start.”
“Clothes that aren’t three times my size, then.”
He pulls back slightly, his eyes my favourite stormy grey colour. “Are you planning on moving your ass in?”
“Woah, slow down. I know you’re obsessed with me, but I’m not ready to go steady with you, cowboy.”
“You’re such a goddamn tease, Tilly,” he grumbles, winding my hair tighter around his fist. “We both know that wasn’t what I was asking.”
I wrap a thigh around his hip, guiding him closer. “I know. My suggestion still stands. I need my own clothes there. That’s all.”
There’s no immediate refusal from him, and I take that as agreement before moving on.
“Here. Your coffee machine is a piece of shit, by the way.”
Handing over the mug of coffee, I try to keep my expression balanced, nonchalant. In reality, I know it means something for me to do this. Not once in the six years that I was married to Ethan did I make him coffee or even consider bringing it to him at work. My love language was never acts of service. I’m not sure if I even have one at all.
My relationship with my ex-husband was odd. I can see that now.
We met when I visited Nova Scotia for the first time, only a few months after Rowe went away, and for two years after I’d moved, I only allowed an off and off again relationship to form between us. Then, it was like I woke up one day and decided that I couldn’t continue pining after a man who didn’t want me and who I feared wouldn’t even remember me when he got out of prison.
When I turned twenty-four, I decided to give the guy a real shot. He hopped at the chance and proposed. A year after that, we were married, and I was living a life that I convinced myself was right for me.
I should have known the entire time that it wasn’t.
Rowe takes the mug with a lift of his brow. I prepare for him to tease me about bringing it all this way, but he doesn’t. Flipping the lid, he keeps his eyes on me and takes a long drink of it.
It’s a silent understanding. He’s not going to push me, and I won’t push him either. We’ll just let the cards fall as they may. That’s the only way whatever this is will work.
“Thank you,” he says.
“You’re welcome. There’s water too. I know you don’t drink enough of it.”
“There’s water in coffee.”
I blink. “That doesn’t count. You need real water, or you’re going to collapse in the sun.”
“I’ve been just fine for the last thirty-so years, Tilly.”
“Stop arguing. You’re going to drink the water I brought.”
“What will you give me if I do?” he counters, lowering the mug and brushing my hair with his fingers instead of pulling it.
“What are you, twelve?”
“I’ll drink all the water you want me to if you come to Ponoka with me this weekend.”
“What’s in Ponoka?”
He fills his palm with my thigh and squeezes softly. “Got a competition.”
“Only if you keep your hat on your head this time. I’m not above starting a fight if it falls onto someone else,” I warn, not the least bit surprised to hear the venom dripping from the words.
“The only head it’s gonna fall on is yours, hellcat.”
My smile spreads slowly. “You better win, then.”
