“I suppose.”
“He likes you.”
I look at her then. We study each other for a long moment, and my face gradually fills with heat.
I wait for her to laugh or tease me, but she does neither. Instead, she lifts a hand and rubs my arm, and says, “I thought so.”
I’m saved from replying by the sight of Jude himself heading along the path toward the paddock. He’s six foot, slender, dark-haired, clean-shaven, and pop-star good looking. As he passes a group of teenage girls, I’m not surprised when they nudge each other and giggle. I still can’t believe that he asked me out. I’m no model, and he could have any woman he wanted.
“I’m going to find Cullen,” Isla murmurs, “catch you later.” Before I can reply, she heads off to the Quad, saying hi to Jude as she passes him.
“I couldn’t find you,” he says to me irritably as he approaches. “What are you doing over here?”
“Just taking a break. I’ve got a bit of a headache.”
“A migraine?”
“I don’t think so. No aura yet anyway.”
He frowns. “Want me to get you a bottle of water?”
I exhale, trying to let go of my anxiety. We might have argued, but he genuinely cares about me. “No, I’m okay, thanks.”
He leans on the fence next to me, and I turn back and lean beside him. “Beautiful sunset,” he says. It’s nearly 8:15 p.m., and the sky to the east is now a blend of tangerine with a touch of grape, while the Pacific Ocean looks like marmalade.
“Yeah.” I watch a fishing boat heading back toward Paihia, no doubt laden with snapper.
I can smell alcohol. After our argument earlier, Jude poured himself a Scotch, and he’s had several glasses of wine here. He’s not drunk yet, but he’s on the way. He rarely drinks to excess, so I know he’s upset.
“Are you still mad at me?” he asks.
I look down at the fence and pick at a piece of moss growing on the wood.
He huffs an exasperated sigh. “I said I’m sorry. What more do you want me to do?”
That irritates me more than anything. “You always say that. But you never apologize properly. You say, ‘I’m sorry, but…’ and then go on to explain your point of view again. Your apologies are never genuine or heartfelt.”
To my surprise, he doesn’t argue. He just stares moodily out to sea. Now I’m getting the silent treatment.
“I might head home,” I say wearily.
“It’s only eight fifteen.”
“I’m tired and my head hurts.”
“Yeah, go on, run away like you normally do.”
I glare at him. “I don’t run away. I walk away from arguments as a coping mechanism because I get upset.”
“Walking away makes it impossible to talk things out.”
“Youmake it impossible to talk things out. You never admit you’re wrong. It’s always my fault. And I try so hard.” My eyes sting.
“Here come the waterworks,” he says sarcastically. “You know they don’t work on me.”
“I don’t turn them on to manipulate you, Jude. I’m upset, and it makes me tearful.”
He blows out a breath. “I’m so exhausted. You used to be such fun. This is wearing me out.”
