“I’d prefer you stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re some kind of white knight who just slayed a dragon for me.” She jabs a finger at my chest. “You slept on my porch. That’s not heroic. That’s just stubborn and slightly unhinged.”
A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. “Noted.”
“Go.” She points toward the street. “Before I change my mind and tell you to forget the whole thing.”
I tuck the list into my pocket and head down the porch steps. The morning is crisp and clean, and the walk to thegeneral store takes less than ten minutes. Mrs. Patterson is just unlocking the front door when I arrive, and she raises an eyebrow at my disheveled appearance.
“Rough night?”
“Something like that.”
I grab a basket and work through Fern’s list. Eggs. Milk. Bread. Butter. Bacon, fresh berries, and orange juice. Coffee, because I noticed yesterday that she was running low. Nothing fancy, but enough to make a decent breakfast.
Mrs. Patterson rings me up with curiosity written all over her face. The whole town probably knows about the lottery by now. About the human woman who ended up matched with me. About the bond that neither of us asked for, but both of us are stuck with.
Let them talk. I don’t care what anyone thinks.
The walk back feels shorter than it should. I take the porch steps two at a time, knock on the door, and wait.
A moment later, it swings open.
Fern has showered. Her hair is still damp and dangles loose around her shoulders, and she’s changed into fresh clothes—black slacks and a soft blue sweater that brings out the color of her eyes. She looks tired but put together, and something in my chest loosens at the sight of her standing there safe and whole.
“That was fast,” she comments.
“Small town. Short walk.” I hold up the grocery bag. “Got everything on your list. Plus coffee, because you were almost out.”
She takes the bag and peers inside, and I watch her face soften as she catalogues the contents.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
“I mean the coffee. It wasn’t on the list.”
“Figured you could use it after last night.”
She’s quiet for a moment and studies me with those pale blue eyes. I hold still under her scrutiny and wait for whatever comes next.
“Well,” she finally says, “I suppose the least I can do is make you breakfast. After you spent all night freezing on my porch like an idiot.”
A real smile breaks across my face before I can stop it. “That an invitation?”
“Don’t push your luck, Langley.” But there’s no heat in the words, and she steps aside to let me through. “Come on. Before I change my mind.”
It’s not forgiveness. It’s not acceptance. It’s not even close to the fresh start we both know we need.
But it’s a door she didn’t slam in my face, and right now, that feels like everything.
Chapter 17 - Fern
Connor’s fork scrapes against his plate, and the sound makes me want to crawl out of my skin.
We’ve been sitting at my kitchen table for ten minutes now, and neither of us has managed to say a single word. The eggs I scrambled are getting cold. The toast sits untouched between us. I take a sip of coffee just to have something to do with my hands and try not to notice the way he keeps glancing at me when he thinks I’m not looking.
