My knee begins to bounce under the table.
“Somewhere you left behind. Or someone. Who is he?”
I frown. “I’m not a turtle, Regis. I don’t carry the past with me. You’re making much more of this than there is.”
He grins briefly and looks away. “So, tell me about him.”
“Now who’s the psychic?” I joke, then shake my head. “There’s nothing to tell.”
He abruptly grabs my hand, but his fingers are soft on mine, coaxing. I should let go. “Then tell me about you.”
I almost laugh. “Not much to say on that subject either.”
His eyes narrow but he doesn’t pull away. “It’s funny because Myrtle never mentioned you. And then you just showed up like a new star in the sky. Appearing out of nowhere with no history to speak of. I’ve known Myrtle a long time, my whole life really. Can’t make heads or tails of it—why she kept you a secret all these years.”
Our hands are still entwined. It’s irrational, how our words and our bodies don’t match up when we’re together. I should pull away, stand up, leave. I’m not supposed to have men, touch men, kiss men. Especiallythisman. And why would I want to after all I’ve been through? I’m supposed to be getting him “off our scent.” If the venery saw me now, I’d be damned. But they’re sleeping off their hangovers, and all I seem to want to do since coming to Crow Lake ishave, touch, kissRegis. I stare at our fingers curling into each other and cough. “I thought this was off duty.”
He smiles, a chuckle escaping, and presses his gaze into me like I am a smear on his corneas he cannot blink away. “Who are you?” His eyes are gravity, gray and grounding, they pull me in. “I want to know you.”
“I’m Acacia,” I tell him, unable to give him what he’s asking for. “I’m no one.”
“I don’t believe that,” he says, assessing.
“I’m not a secret.” But the words come out hollow, little puffs of wind, idle.Put your back into it, Piers,I tell myself. I don’t like lying to him.
He cocks his head. “Then why did you come here?”
There’s an angle to his jaw, a flare of pulse underneath, that burns through me. Without trying, I see my lips there. Something warm gathers in my hips, at the base of my throat. I clear it away. “I told you; I want to study botany.”
“Texas doesn’t have plants?”
My lips press into a line. “Austin is…” I’ve been there a few times, weekend trips and once with a client. It’s a place to go in the South, a mecca for style. Of course, I went. “Ungrounded. Too gentrified for me. It’s lost something over the years, between all the yoga studios and vegan cafés and independent bookstores. A sense of itself, the roots. I felt adrift there.”
“That’s the most you’ve said about your past since I met you.” His lips relax, a flash of teeth signaling his appreciation.
I feel relieved. It surprises me. I didn’t know how much Iwanted to please him until this moment. “My past…” I begin, looking at him. “It’s not really been a great life up to this point. My past isn’t something I like to talk about because it’s painful. I came here to study botany, but I also came here to start over, to leave my past behind. Crow Lake is my future, and that’s what I’m focused on.”
He nods. “Got it.”
“What about you? What’s your story?” I ask him.
“A common one. Boy grows up in the woods, falls in love with them, vows to do everything in his power to protect them. I switched from forestry to law enforcement because I realized it wasn’t only the trees I loved here, it’s the people. I wanted to do as much for the community as the land.” He’s almost sheepish as he talks—eyes cast down, fingers twitching. I haven’t seen him this way before. He hazards a peek at me.
“No vengeful exes or Bertha Rochesters I should know about? Jilted lovers stalking you?” I say it with humor, but it sounds more intimate than intended. I almost blush.
He bites his bottom lip. “I’m told I have commitment issues,” he says, finally pulling his hand away. “Repeatedly.”
He thinks this will bother me. He has no idea how wrong he is. It’s been years since I’ve been with a man and not a monster. I can barely recall what it feels like to open myself, back arched against the mattress, as someone pleases me. Sex with Henry became so traumatic, I didn’t even realize I missed it. Safety, I realize, is a prerequisite for pleasure. Here, shielded by a massif of mountains, as another woman sitting across from another man, I feel the first churnings of desire in two years, like pins and needles between my legs. “How close is your place to here?”
His face shifts, posture straightening, an illicit response in his gaze. “Close enough.”
I stand up and walk toward the door. When I turn, he’s still at the table, uncertain, afraid he’s misread the moment.Bless him.“You coming?”
He rises and follows me out to his car. As we get in, leaving the Subaru in the lot, he watches me from the driver’s seat, something eating at him. Without warning he leans over, taking my chin, about to put his mouth on mine.
I lift a finger to his lips and press him back. After Don, it’s not a move I can be comfortable with. After the venery, it’s not one I should be. “Promise me something.”
He swallows, eyes wide and hungry. “What?”
