“Should’ve asked,” I say, tugging at the hem. “Sorry. It was in the drawer, and mine is?—”
“It’s fine.”
“I can change.”
“Jane.” His voice is rougher than before. “It’s fine. Looks better on you anyway.”
For a heartbeat, neither of us moves.
The fire pops.
I hover in the doorway, suddenly unsure of where to put myself. The couch? Too close. The other chair? Too far. God, why is this so hard?
Tex closes the book and sets it aside. "You okay?"
No. I don’t want to be alone, but I’m terrified of needing anyone. And your cabin is too quiet, and my head is too loud.
“Yeah,” I say too fast. Then, more honestly, “I’m not ready to be alone yet. And I’m tired of pretending I don’t need things.” The words come out before I can stop them.
Tex watches me for a long moment. Then he nods toward the couch. “Sit.”
I sit.
“Blanket?” he asks.
“No,” I say automatically.
Then my teeth chatter.
He doesn’t comment. He just grabs the quilt from the chair and drapes it over me with careful hands, close enough that his knuckles brush my skin above my sleeve.
Electric.
My body lights up like a warning flare.
He steps back immediately, as if he felt it too.
“Night, Jane,” he says.
“Night, Tex,” I reply softly.
I lie there on the couch, staring at the fire until my eyes start to blur.
As I drift, I hear him move down the hall. The door to his room clicks across from mine.
Separate rooms.
Separate beds.
Safe.
My brain should relax.
Instead, my last coherent thought before sleep steals me is that Kitty said I didn’t have to earn my place here. And Tex said he didn’t mind that I’m too much.
Maybe I don’t have to earn it.
Maybe I just have to show up.
