“I’m so…”
I almost smiled. Almost.
The floor creaked as I walked over to him. My mind was still occupied with the bad memories, which were clear as day and all too real. Even learning the truth hadn’t made them go away. I took a deep breath. I didn’t want the emotions bubbling up under my facade of calm to betray me.
“Come here, you need to dry off or you’ll catch pneumonia.”
I took his hand and forced him to follow me to the fireplace. He kneeled down while I went upstairs for towels. I went into his roomfor dry clothes, too. He needed them. On the bed, I found pants and a shirt.
Downstairs, he was trying to warm up in front of the fire. I crouched down beside him, uncomfortable in the silence, wanting some kind of reaction on his part.
“Here, let’s take this off,” I whispered, sliding my fingers under his T-shirt and pulling it over his head.
He hesitated for a moment, then let me. With the wet fabric tossed aside, I couldn’t help but notice his tanned skin, the firmness of every inch of his torso, his beautiful hands with those long, masculine fingers. Touching him was a warm pleasure, and I instantly regretted how quickly he’d broken down my barriers.
I dried his hair with the towel as best I could, then ran it over his neck, his shoulders, his stomach. Then I stopped. He was watching me, and his breath was speeding up.
It was hard for me to look back at him, but I did. I even tried to smile, timidly.
“Maybe you should do the rest. I’ll turn around while you take off your pants and put these dry clothes on.”
I stood and walked away, feeling an unwanted warmth in my chest. Memories of the first and only time I’d touched him tugged at my heart. Our secret caresses. It was all I could think about just then.
“Done.”
Finally.
I turned around. The space between us seemed blocked by all the things we couldn’t say. There was a fragility in his expression, and something that hinted at feverish thoughts. He shook his head, kicked his damp clothes aside, and sat on the sofa, sinking his head in his hands.
“I’m sorry you lost your mother,” I said.
“Thanks.”
“I didn’t know she… I mean, I never heard you mention her, and…”
“I can’t talk about that, sorry.” He cut me off gently.
They should make maps of people so you don’t get lost in them. Each person should be born with an instruction manual that tells other people how to deal with them. Everything would be much easier that way.
“Where’d you go?” I asked.
“For a walk.”
“A walk?”
“You dropped a bomb on me, okay? And I…” He leaned back and pursed his lips. “I don’t know how to take it, Harper. And when I don’t know how to deal with something, I turn distant.”
He squinted and bit his lip, and I sensed he was on the verge of giggling.
“What’s so funny? I can’t believe you’re laughing at a time like this.”
“I can promise you, I find this situation anything but funny… Still, though. You’ve spent four years hating me, and here you are worried about me.”
Whatever. He’d caught me. My heart was foolish. I was foolish. And I could turn on a dime. I sat down next to him to be closer to the fire. The wood was smoldering. Soon there would be nothing but embers.
“I’m not a bad person. And you didn’t even know what happened that night.”
“Don’t try and justify what I did.” He cut me off.
