He looks at the exit again and I know he doesn’t want to rehash the past right now.
“So, the cottage,” I blurt. “You think the renovations would be easy?”
Declan nods. “I think so.”
“And you could, possibly, maybe help with some of them?”
His face hardens. My stomach free falls.
“Aren’t you moving soon?” For the first time during this conversation, he removes his elbows from the table and leans back in the booth, arms crossed.
Swiping my water off the table, I take a long gulp to hide my flaming cheeks. Why are my cheeks flaming?
“That’s the current plan,” I say, setting my water down and tracing the rim. “But my plan is looking a little flimsy now with the house situation.” I release a wry laugh.
He rolls his lips inward. He’s gone quiet like he used to when he was trying to solve a difficult problem. But those green eyes are simmering with something. Whatever the emotion is, he fights it.
“Blair, you know I’d love to help you. With anything. But, with the house, if you’re leaving soon anyways, I don’t like starting things I can’t finish.”
His eyes burn into mine and I physically resist squirming in the booth. What am I supposed to say to that? I have the urge to insist that I’m staying, but I can’t be making promises I don’t know if I can keep.
The waitress comes back with the check, saving us from the stunted silence. I reach for my wallet.
“Don’t. I got it,” Declan says, voice low.
We return to his car, and I can’t breathe without feeling self-conscious about the sound. The song he was showing me on the drive over is still playing and he turns it off quickly, leaving us drenched in silence. Pinks and purples swirl in the distance as the sun is pulled under the sea, and by the time he pulls into his driveway, the moon fashions the sky instead.
“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He breaks the silence with a flat voice and steps out of the car without looking at me.
That’s my cue to leave, I guess.
“Alrighty,” I say, awkwardly, opening my door. “See you tomorrow.”
I shut the car door and strut across the street to my car, hurrying to get inside and on the road.
What just happened?
Was he upset that I was leaving? Or that I would potentially stay?
I don’t like starting things I can’t finish.
I mull over the meaning of his words until I’m drifting off to sleep. I’ve let the statement simmer at the edge of my mind for so long that it starts fermenting into a different substance altogether. Because the conclusion I kept coming back to, the one thing that couldn’t possibly be true, was that he was talking about us.
Chapter 21
Harper sashays up to me behind the bar, and at her exuberant smile, I realize I haven’t seen her since her abrupt departure from Jonny’s Pints and Pins.
“Harper!” I exclaim. “Where have you been?”
And then, in a moment that shocks even me, I pull her in for a hug.
“Why, hello! I missed you too,” she teases, squeezing me back.
We’re both scheduled to make drinks while Sonia works the register, so in between calling out names, Harper fills me in on her weekend.
“So yeah, Chicken is all better now, and I just have to start putting my hairbrush in a drawer.” Chicken is Harper’s cat, who repeatedly has trips to the vet after coughing up fist-sized hairballs. Literal, Harper-colored hairballs. “But anyways, sorry about my behavior at Jonny’s. I haven’t had a slip-up like that in over a year and—” She shakes her head with widened eyes, looking down at the milk she’s foaming.
“Slip-up? What do you mean by…” I trail off.
