“Your sister knows nothing about this,” he said. “It’s supposed to be a birthday surprise for her.”
I tried not to smile. My brother-in-law was the most adorable guy on the planet. I brought my feet up under me on the sofa and hugged my knees.
“I didn’t know you did home renovations,” I said.
“I don’t. It’s a personal favor.”
“Sure.”
Nothing we’d said those past few minutes had eased my nerves. Having him there made me relive everything I’d felt for him, good and bad, with intense clarity. It was as if all those feelings had been lying dormant, waiting for their moment to come out. He turned, and I saw the flames dancing in his eyes.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“Vacation.”
He looked skeptical. “You’ve picked a hell of a time for it.”
“The storm caught me off guard. No one told me the end of the world was this week.”
He nodded in agreement, as though to tell me he hadn’t seen this coming, either. He leaned back and sipped his tea. It must have gotten cold by now. I did the same, just to busy my hands with something, and because if I looked down into my cup, then I’d stop looking at him, and I’d stop trying to remember what that short beard felt like rubbing against my skin.
I hated being so weak.
He spit his tea into the fireplace.
“Ugh. That tastes like cat piss.”
“You seem pretty certain about what cat piss tastes like.” A giggle escaped me, and his look of repulsion changed to one of amusement. But then I remembered I wasn’t supposed to like him, and I froze. This got his attention, and he seemed to be sizing me up. I felt the room grow smaller and smaller the longer he did so.
“You’re nothing like the nice little girl I remember.”
“Maybe because I’m not a little girl,” I replied belligerently.
“Or nice, it seems.”
I stared at him, defiant, as though daring him to say something else.
And he did. “That’s enough! Just spit it out!” I looked away, not wanting him to see how this outburst had affected me. “Are you this stupid with everyone, or just with me? Because if it’s just with me, I think I have a right to know why.” He pointed at me. “And if you tell me I already know what the problem is, I swear I’ll…”
“You’ll what?” I got up, ready to return to my room, but he jumped between me and the stairway.
“Don’t even think about it. You’re not running away this time.”
“Move, Trey.”
“No.”
“Let me by.”
“Not until you tell me what’s up with you.”
I turned around. I couldn’t deal with this. My heart ached and he was acting like nothing had ever happened between us, trying to force out of me answers he already had.
That made me angry. Very angry.
I love a good dramatic scene in a book, but in real life, there’s nothing worse. And yet there we were, giving a marquee performance.
“What’s up with me? What’s up with me is that you…you…”
