I did. I went there a lot. Every time I closed my eyes, every time I let my guard down, every time someone asked a simple question about my life.
“Just tired,” I said.
She didn’t push. I appreciated that.
Instead, she moved to the counter and picked up a plate covered in plastic wrap.
“These are for you,” she said, holding it out. “I made cookies last night. Chocolate chip. I figured since you won’t stay for dinner, the least I can do is send you home with dessert.”
I stared at the plate.
She’d made me cookies. This woman I’d met yesterday—who I’d barely spoken to, who I’d been gruff with—had made me cookies.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know. I wanted to.” She nudged the plate closer. “Take them. Please. Otherwise, I’ll eat them all myself, and then I’ll have to do extra yoga to work them off, and then you’ll have to watch me do yoga again, and we’ll both be uncomfortable.”
I took the plate. “I wasn’t uncomfortable.”
The words were out before I could stop them. Her cheeks flushed pink, and she looked down at her coffee.
“I mean—” I started.
“It’s fine.” She was smiling now—a small, private smile. “I’m glad I didn’t traumatize you with my downward dog.”
I should leave. Right now—before I said something else stupid. Before I let myself get any more tangled up in a woman who talked too much and smiled too easily and made me feel things I’d spent three years trying not to feel.
“I should go,” I said. “Let you study.”
“Right. Midterms.” She glanced at her laptop like she’d forgotten it existed. “Thanks for the generator help. And for not laughing at me.”
“I don’t laugh.”
“Ever?”
“Not much.”
She studied me, and I felt seen in a way I didn’t like. Like she was looking past the one-word answers and straight through the walls I’d built.
“I bet I could make you laugh,” she said. “Eventually.”
“Don’t count on it.”
Even as I said it, the corner of my mouth twitched. Her smile widened.
“I saw that,” she said. “That was almost a smile. I’m counting it as progress.”
I turned and headed for the door before she could see more. Before I did something worse than smile—like stay. Or before Itold her the truth—that she was the first person in three years who’d made me want to.
“Kai?”
I stopped, hand on the door. “Yeah?”
“Will you come check on me tomorrow?” she asked. “Make sure I haven’t accidentally set the cabin on fire or flooded the basement or something?”
I should say no. I should tell her Eunice’s place was solid, that nothing else would go wrong, that she didn’t need me hovering.
“Yeah,” I said instead. “I’ll come by.”
