“You mean going on a date with mybrother?” Nils shouts.
I glance around. “Keep your voice down.”
“Isthiswhy you wouldn’t kiss me?” He slams his hands on the table between us. “Because you’re dating him?”
Soup sloshes out of the bowls, splattering over the tabletop.
Edith jumps. “It-it’s not like that.”
I don’t know which stuns me more: how angry Nils is or that he tried to kiss her and Edith didn’t let him. Was I mistaken? Are they not together after all?
Edith shrinks in on herself, making herself smaller.
Her gaze darts desperately over the dining hall.
“I-I was just leaving,” Edith interjects. “Amund, thank you for the meal.” She stands quickly, clearly uncomfortable, and slips out of the booth before Nils can make more of a scene.
“See you later,” she calls over her shoulder while heading for the door.
I realize I don’t know which of us she means.
Nils slides into the booth, taking her spot. He leans over the table, setting both of his elbows down like the spilled soup isn’t there. “Youtold me to stay away from Edith. Now you’re eating dinner together?” His tone turns accusatory. “Are you dating her?”
“Of course not,” I grunt. I would never do that to him.
Nils narrows his eyes. “You can’t let me have even one thing, can you?”
Before I can respond, he gets up and heads toward the opposite corner, taking a seat at an empty booth. He drums his fingers on the table,clearly agitated. No matter how much he fidgets, he can’t seem to get comfortable.
I stare down at the spilled soup.
My eyes burn as I mop up the mess with a napkin before leaving.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREEEDITH
As soon as I’m outside, I take a deep breath, sucking in the cold air. I can still hear the shouting, still see the aggression in Nils’s face. There was something dark in his eyes when he looked at me. Something… possessive.
I rub my arms, trying to calm myself down. Over the years, I’ve tried all sorts of different trauma therapy, like PE, CPT, CBT, but they didn’t help me much. The latest therapist Jim and Patricia found me practiced EMDR.
I know what she would tell me.
Think of your calm, safe place.
So I close my eyes and summon a long, smooth stretch of track in my mind. A place where nothing can touch me. I imagine running over the track, fast and free, outrunning all my problems—my breathing labored, my skin soaked, my muscles screaming.
I’m safe.
There’s a burst of sound as the dining hall door opens: talk and laughter and the din of plates clattering. The rich aroma of lamb soupfills the air, pulling me back to reality. The noise quiets again as the door swings closed, and then—
“Edith, are you all right?”
My eyes fly open at Amund’s voice. “Yeah. Fine.”
He frowns as he joins me. “I can tell you’re not.”
“I know.” I blow out a breath. “Sorry. I hate confrontation.”
His brown eyes search mine, a faint crease forming between his brows. “Me too, actually.”
